TWELVE  MONTHS 

WITH  THE  BIRDS 

AND  POETS 


SAMUEL  A.  HARPER 


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' Cuckoo  calling  from  the  hill, 
Swallow  skimming  by  the  mill, 
Swallows  trooping  in  the  sedge, 
Starlings  swirling  from  the  hedge, 
Mark  the  seasons,  map  our  year, 
As  they  show  and  disappear." 

— Matthew  Arnold. 


My 


To 

Son  Sa 


The  Companion  of 


You  re  Wrong, 
Sir,  Sparrows 
Aren't  Vandals 


BY  BOB  BECKER. 

At  last  the  lowly  English  sparrow 
has  a  real  champion.  This  sassy  little 
gamin  has  been  the  target  of  many 
verbal  attacks  lately.  We  have  heard 
from  dozens  of  bird  fans  who  are 
down  on  the  sparr> 

But  now  conies  Samuel  A.  Harper, 
author  of  "  Months  with  the 

Birds  and  the  Foots,"  to  champion  the 
cause  of  the  little  Britisher.    H : 
ments   in    behalf   of   the    sparrow   are 
as  foil 

"At  the  outset  I  a-  Meltje 

Blanchan,   who  says   '  Ind 
deal  of  nonsen.^'  nit  the 

sparrov,  .is.  .  .  . 

The  sparrows  are  prepared  to  live 
while  others  would  starve.  They  kill 
no  other  birds.' 

"  I  feel."  continues  Mr.  Harper, 
''  that  there  are  at  least  two  very  sub- 
stantial reasons. why  extermination  of 
the  English  sparrow  should  not  be  ad- 
vocated. First,  the  grave  danger  that 
uninformed  persons  would  kill  a  large 
number  of  other  useful  species  of  spar- 
rows by  mistake,  and  second,  because 
the  English  spar  rremely  use- 

ful in  certa;  .-?  of  the  country 

by  reason  of  its  feeding  habits. 

"As  to  their  destructiveness,  they 
certainly  are  no  worse  than  some  of 
our  favorite  home  birds.  Robins  often 
destroy  cherry,  olive  and  other  fruit 
crops,  and  the  bluejays  and  the  black- 
birds are  quite  as  destructive  as  the 
English  sparrow. 

"  Much  more  good  would  be  ac- 
complished if  we  directed  our  fight 
against  the  arch  enemy  of  all  birds, 
the  house  cats,  which  many  people 
allow  to  roam  at  will,  each  killing  at 
least  fifty  birds  in  the  course  of  every 
year." 


TWELVE 
MONTHS 

WITH    THE 

BIRDS 

AND 

POETS 

SAMUEL  A.  HARPER. 

WITH    ILLUSTRATIONS 


RALPH    FLETCHER   SEYMOUE, 


Copyrighted,  1917 
Ralph  Fletcher  Seymour 


This  edition  of  "Twelve 
Months  With  the  Birds  and 
Poets,"  by  Samuel  A.  Har- 
per, is  limited  to  two  hun- 
dred copies,  of  which  this  is 
Number  Ralph  Fletcher 
Seymour,  Publisher/ 
CHICAGO.  MCMXVII. 


FOREWORD 

This  study  of  birds  and  poets  is  divided  into 
twelve  chapters,  one  for  each  month  of  the  year, 
beginning  with  April,  the  opening  of  the  birds' 
year.  The  birds  are  discussed  in  the  month  most 
appropriate  to  them  by  reason  of  habits  of  nesting, 
migration  or  other  distinguishing  characteristics. 
This  plan  enables  the  reader  to  live  through  the 
year  with  the  birds,  and  to  learn  when  to  look  for 
them. 

The  observations  were  made  in  Illinois,  Indiana 
and  Michigan,  and  the  book  may  be  used  as  a  safe 
guide  for  the  study  of  the  more  common  birds  of 
this  latitude  from  the  Rocky  Mountains  east  to  the 
Atlantic  seaboard. 

If  out  of  the  joy  of  writing  it  there  has  grown  an 
unconscious  purpose  in  this  little  book  it  is  that 
busy  men  might  pause  and  see  the  beauties  of  the 
world  all  about  them  and  "read  nature  like  the 
manuscript  of  heaven,"  for  as  surely  as  they  do  so 
and  life 

"Hath  yet  one  spring  unpoisoned,  it  will  be 
Like  a  beguiling  music  to  its  flow." 

SAMUEL  A.  HARPER. 

Chicago,  December  I,  1917. 


INTRODUCTION 

Surely  the  year  begins  in  April,  when  the  world 
has  her  face  freshly  washed,  a  new  dress  of  flower 
draped  green  satin,  and  lifts  up  her  voice  in  the 
piping  of  a  million  spontaneous  feathered  song- 
sters singing  out  their  little  hearts  in  the  ecstasy 
of  the  mating  fever. 

The  birds  and  flowers  are  Nature's  most  exqui- 
site gifts  to  man.  Much  as  I  love  flower  form, 
colour  and  fragrance,  and  appreciate  the  medic- 
inal value  of  many  lovely  herbs,  with  me  the  palm 
always  is  awarded  to  the  birds;  because  they  have 
flower  colour,  the  grace  of  flight,  the  gift  of  song, 
the  instinct  of  home  making  and  keeping,  and  are 
wonderful  insect  and  weed  exterminators. 

Every  soul  alive  to  beauty  and  music  and  even 
slightly  appreciative  of  benefits  received  must  love 
the  birds,  while  from  the  beginning  of  time  they 
have  been  one  of  the  greatest  sources  of  inspiration 
to  poets  and  painters.  The  oldest  painting  pre- 
served in  the  world  is  a  picture  of  birds;  while  the 
poets  of  all  time  have  piped  their  lays  concerning, 
not  only  the  nightingale,  lark  and  bobolink,  but 
the  owl,  heron  and  buzzard,  as  well.  Sweetly  as 
the  birds  have  sung,  the  best  of  them  never  have 


8  Introduction 

equalled  the  songs  which  they  have  called  forth 
from  the  hearts  of  the  poets. 

Some  of  the  most  inspired  of  these  songs  are 
here  quoted,  and  to  them  there  has  been  added 
much  sane  and  careful  observation  of  bird  life  and 
habits.  This  is  a  book  to  love,  to  own  and  to  give 
to  your  discerning  friend. 


Limberlost  Cabin, 
October  21,  1917. 


io  Twelve  Months  With 

the  old  earth  takes  on  her  new  livery  of  green. 
At  this  season  one  feels  the  impulse  of  the  little 
mediaeval  page,    in  Alexander  William   Percy's 
"A  Page's  Road  Song:" 

"If  Thou  wilt  make  Thy  peach  trees  bloom  for  me 
And  fringe  my  bridle  path  both  sides 

With  tulips  red  and  free, 
If  Thou  wilt  make  Thy  skies  as  blue 

As  ours  in  Sicily 
And  wake  the  little  leaves  that  sleep 

On  every  bending  tree — 

I  promise  not  to  vexen  Thee 

That  Thou  shouldst  make  eternally 

Heaven  my  home ; 
But  right  contentedly 
A  singing  page  I'll  be 

Here  in  Thy  Springtime." 

It  is  commonly  supposed  that  the  origin  of  the 
word  "April"  is  the  Latin  aperio,  meaning  "I 
open."  To  me  this  is  a  happier  and  more  appro- 
priate explanation  of  the  genesis  of  the  name  than 
the  other  tradition  that  April  was  Aprilis, 
founded  on  the  Greek  name  of  Venus  (Aphrodite) . 
True,  April  might  justly  be  called  the  Queen  of 
months,  and  as  it  is  also  the  month  of  love  making 
for  many  animals  and  birds,  it  therefore  may  be 
said  to  have  some  of  the  characteristics  of  the 
Grecian  Goddess. 


The  Birds  and  Poets  n 

But  when  March  has  blown  his  windy  trumpet, 
and  proclaimed  the  tyrant  winter  dead,  and  timid 
April  comes,  with  smiles  and  tears,  it  is  as  if  the 
trump  of  Gabriel  had  sounded,  and  all  the  earth 
had  "opened"  unto  heaven!  It  is  the  month  of  the 
first  spring  buds.  The  bud  says : 

"My  leaves  instinct  with  glowing  life 
Are  quivering  to  unclose; 
My  happy  heart  with  love  is  ripe — 
I  am  almost  a  rose." 

It  is  the  month  of  nest  building  for  our  early 
spring  birds.  It  is  the  month  when  the  lingering 
snows  on  the  shadowed  hillside  melt  before  the 
ascending  sun,  and  form  the  numberless  little 
spring  runs  in  which  the  first  spring  green  appears. 
It  is  the  month  of  the  singing  frogs,  new  born  in 
every  swamp  and  meadow  pool,  whose  chorus  is: 
"It  is  sprrrrrring!  It  is  sprrrrrring!"  As  John 
Vance  Cheney  sings,  in  his  "Spring  Song,"  it  is  the 
glad  time: 

"When  to  pool  and  log 
Come  newt  and  frog, 

And  the  first  blade  peers  at  the  snowdrift's  edge, 
And  there's  dreamy  green  along  the  hedge." 

It  is  the  month  of  regeneration  of  the  earth's 
waiting  soil,  made  ready  by  melting  snows  and 
cleansing  showers,  for  its  new  increase  of  all  the 
green  things  of  earth.  It  is  the  month  of  burgeon- 


12  Twelve  Months  With 

ing,  of  promise  and  of  joy,  as  voiced  by  Louis 
Untermeyer : 

"God,  I  return  to  You  on  April  days 

When  along  country  roads  You  walk  with  me, 
And  my  faith  blossoms  like  the  earliest  tree 

That  shames  the  bleak  world  with  its  yellow  sprays — 

My  faith  revives,  when  through  a  rosy  haze 
The  clover-sprinkled  hills  smile  quietly, 
Young  winds  uplift  a  bird's  clean  ecstasy  *  *  * 

For  this,  O  God,  my  joyousness  and  praise!" 

With  what  alert  and  expectant  ear  do  we  await 
the  first  spring  robin's  call!  With  what  a  thrill  of 
ecstasy  do  we  hear  his  first  spring  song!  I  never 
find  it  necessary  to  record  in  my  note  book,  the  date 
of  the  arrival  of  my  first  spring  robin.  I  know  the 
dates  for  years  back.  His  cheery  call  means  for 
me  the  beginning  of  a  new  year,  and  forgetfulness 
of  winter,  as  Thos.  S.  Jones  so  happily  expresses  it: 

"You  hold  my  winter  in  forgetfulness; 
Without  my  window  lilac  branches  swing, 
Within  my  gate  I  hear 
a  robin  sing." 

And  while  the  bluebird  shares  with  the  robin 
the  glory  of  being  our  most  common  and  most 
beloved  April  bird, 

"When  mid  the  budding  elms  the 

bluebird  flits, 
As  if  a  bit  of  sky  had  taken  wings;" 


The  Birds  and  Poets  13 

he  less  often  announces  his  arrival  at  our  back 
door.  He  makes  an  occasional  welcome  visit  to 
our  lawn,  or  to  a  neighboring  shrub  or  tree,  but  for 
the  most  part  prefers  the  more  open  country,  yet 
not  too  far  removed  from  man  and  his  habitations. 

But  the  robin  seems  to  love  the  intimate  com- 
panionship of  man.  He  feeds  in  our  home  yards 
and  sings  in  our  trees  and  shrubs.  He  often  builds 
his  nest  on  a  projecting  timber  of  house  or  barn. 
The  attitude  of  the  bird  toward  man  is  a  sweet  and 
singular  mixture  of  friendliness  and  timidity. 
The  natural  instinct  and  art  of  all  birds  is  to  con- 
ceal their  nests,  both  as  to  position  and  material, 
yet  the  love  of  the  robin  for  man's  society  has  so 
far  overcome  his  natural  instinctive  fear,  that  he 
sometimes  builds  his  nest  on  a  window  ledge  or 
over  the  door  of  our  dwelling.  Why  should  we 
not  return  this  affection,  which  on  the  part  of  the 
bird  represents  a  conquest  over  its  fear  for  man? 

This  year  of  which  I  write  (1916),  on  April 
first  a  pair  of  robins  began  bringing  grass  and  mud 
to  the  ledge  of  a  south  second-story  window  of  my 
suburban  home,  for  the  purpose  of  making  a  nest. 
It  need  hardly  be  said  that  they  were  not  disturbed. 

I  considered  the  house  worth  an  extra  $1000  at 
least,  with  this  "addition." 

Joyce  Kilmer  suggests  the  added  glory  that 
comes  to 

"A  tree  that  may  in  summer  wear 
A  nest  of  robins  in  her  hair." 


14  Twelve  Months  With 

The  window  shade  was  carefully  drawn,  so  that 
the  birds  would  not  be  disconcerted.  While  robins 
are  usually  not  easily  frightened  out  of  their  deter- 
mination to  build  a  nest  in  a  particular  place,  and 
often  fight  for  their  right  to  choose  the  location  of 
their  domicile,  we  did  not  intend  to  run  any  risks 
of  the  birds  changing  their  plans.  All  day  Satur- 
day and  Sunday  they  were  busy,  with  their 
weaving  and  their  masonry.  The  female  after 
depositing  a  circle  of  mud  on  the  inside  of  the  nest, 
would  nestle  into  it  and  softly  mold  it  into  a  cup 
by  turning  her  breast  round  and  round  against  its 
rim,  and  churning  her  wings  up  and  down  to 
smooth  its  edges.  I  observed  after  one  such  process 
that  she  flew  into  a  neighbor's  yard  and  bathed 
herself  in  a  basin  of  water  on  the  lawn,  washing 
the  mud  from  her  breast.  My  young  son,  who  was 
greatly  excited  during  these  building  operations, 
and  who  was  with  difficulty  restrained  from  fright- 
ening and  annoying  the  birds,  asked  if  we  could 
finish  the  nest  if  the  birds  became  frightened 
and  deserted  it,  and  I  know  I  answered  him 
truly  when  I  said  that  "no  one  but  a  bird  can 
build  a  nest!"  The  birds  are  the  oldest  miners, 
masons,  carpenters  and  builders,  weavers  and 
basket  makers. 

"What  nice  hand, 

With  every  implement  and  means  of  art, 
And  twenty  years'  apprenticeship  to  boot, 
Could  make  us  such  another?" 


The  Birds  and  Poets  15 

By  Sunday  night  the  nest  was  apparently  fin- 
ished and  ready  for  its  eggs,  and  then  for  four 
days  no  robin  was  seen  to  come  near  it.  Our 
household,  from  young  son  to  grandmother,  took 
on  a  worried  look!  Had  the  nest  been  aban- 
doned? My  explanation  to  an  anxious  family 
was  that  the  robins,  being  experienced  masons, 
knew  that  the  wet  mud  of  the  nest  was  no  fit 
receptacle  for  the  eggs,  and  therefore  the  birds 
would  wait  until  it  dried.  A  more  probable  expla- 
nation for  the  four  days'  desertion  of  the  new- 
built  nest,  however,  is  that  the  egg  of  mother 
robin  was  not  yet  ripe,  and  that  the  nest  was  there- 
fore prepared  too  soon.  Nature  lovers  in  their 
enthusiasm  are  all  too  likely  to  attribute  to  birds 
and  animals  a  wisdom  and  intelligence  which  they 
do  not  possess.  Just  as  the  beauty  of  the  bird  and 
its  song  is  largely  subjective,  born  of  the  spirit 
of  the  bird  lover,  so  its  acts  prompted  solely  by 
instinct,  sense  communications  and  kindred  influ- 
ences are  often,  in  the  subjective  imagination  of 
the  enthusiastic  nature  student,  mistaken  for  and 
mis-called  judgment. 

If  the  mother  robin  really  waited  for  the  nest 
to  become  dry,  it  is  more  reasonable  to  assume 
that  she  waited  from  mere  instinct,  resulting  from 
the  sum  total  of  the  experience  of  herself  and  her 
ancestors  in  nest  building,  rather  than  that  she 
had  any  conscious  knowledge  that  a  wet  nest  was 
not  a  good  place  for  her  eggs. 

Both  the  barn  swallow  and  the  phoebe,  who 


1 6  Twelve  Months  With 

employ  mud  in  their  nest  building,  frequently 
wait  a  day  or  two  after  the  nest  is  finished  before 
laying  their  eggs,  which  action  might  be  attributed 
to  instinctive  solicitude  for  the  future  family,  but 
this  practice  is  not  peculiar  to  birds  who  use  mud 
in  their  nests,  so  that  the  delay  is  more  likely  due 
in  each  case  to  the  fact  that  the  egg  is  not  mature. 

Mr.  Burroughs  relates  a  story  of  a  creeping 
warbler  whose  egg  became  ripe  before  the  nest 
was  finished.  After  excavating  the  site  for  the 
nest,  the  bird  laid  the  egg,  and  then  finished  the 
nest  over  it.  So  that  if  instinct  sometimes  errs 
upon  the  one  side  and  fails  to  prompt  the  bird 
to  build  its  nest  in  time,  it  may  easily  err  on  the 
other  side  and  urge  nest  building  too  soon. 

But,  to  return  to  our  nest  on  the  window 
ledge, — whatever  the  reason  may  have  been  for 
her  four  days'  absence,  at  the  expiration  of  that 
time  the  female  robin  returned  to  the  nest,  and 
then  laid  one  egg  a  day  until  four  were  in  the 
nest,  and  as  I  write  she  is  faithfully  warming  the 
nest  and  its  eggs,  and  clamorously  protesting  when 
any  one  appears  at  the  window,  or  at  any  window 
in  the  vicinity. 

This  experience  of  the  robin's  nest  on  the  win- 
dow ledge  reminds  me  of  Wordsworth's  lines  on 
the  robin  at  his  casement  window: 

"Stay,  little  cheerful  Robin!  stay, 

And  at  my  casement  sing, 
Though  it  should  prove  a  farewell  lay 
And  this  our  parting  spring." 


The  Birds  and  Poets  17 

Lowell,  in  his  beautiful  lines  "To  the  Dande- 
lion," recalls  the  robin  of  his  childhood: 

"The  sight  of  thee  calls  back  the  robin's  song, 

Who  from  the  dark  old  tree 
Beside  the  door  sang  clearly  all  day  long, 

And  I,  secure  in  childish  piety, 
Listened  as  if  I  heard  an  angel  sing 

With  news  from  heaven,  which  he  could  bring 
Fresh  every  day  to  my  untainted  ears 

When  birds  and  flowers  and  I  were  happy  peers." 

Stedman  gives  high  praise  to  the  early  spring 
notes  of  the  robin: 

"The  sweetest  sound  our  whole  year  round — 
'Tis  the  first  robin  of  the  spring! 
The  song  of  the  full  orchard  choir 
Is  not  so  fine  a  thing." 

He  is  loved  by  Wm.  W.  Caldwell  as  the  har- 
binger of  spring: 

"From  the  elm-tree's  topmost  bough, 
Hark!  the  Robin's  early  song! 
Telling  one  and  all  that  now 
Merry  spring  time  hastes   along; 
Welcome  tidings  dost  thou  bring, 
Little  harbinger  of  spring, 

Robin's  come  1" 

He  means  renewed   faith  for  Charles  G.   D. 
Roberts : 


1 8  Twelve  Months  With 

"Have  I  fainted,  have  I  doubted, 
In  the  days  that  have  gone  by? 
Have  I  said  'There  is  no  rising 
Unto  mortals  when  they  die?' 
It  is  past,  that  blind  self-wounding. 
I  have  heard  the  robin  sing, 
I  have  caught  the  Easter  message, 
In  the  first  breath  of  the  spring." 

The  well  known  feeding  habits  of  the  robin, 
in  running  through  the  grass  and  pulling  earth 
worms  out  of  the  sod,  is  very  vividly,  as  well  as 
amusingly,  told  by  Katherine  Van  D.  Harkee  in 
the  following  stanzas: 

"Abstracted,   contemplative  air, 

A  sudden  run  and  stop, 
A  glance  indifferent  round  about, 
Head  poised — another  hop. 

A  plunge  well-aimed,  a  backward  tug, 

A  well-resisted  squirm, 
Then  calm  indifference  as  before, 

But  oh,  alack,  the  worm!" 

Any  one  who  has  seen  a  robin  feeding  will  vouch 
for  the  dramatic  accuracy  of  this  description. 

Almost  three  weeks  after  the  nest  on  the  win- 
dow ledge  was  commenced,  another  pair  of  robins 
began  building  a  nest  on  a  telephone  pole  about 
fifty  feet  from  my  back  porch.  The  father  robin 
in  the  window  ledge  family  must  be  an  attractive 
fellow  among  the  females,  and  a  charming  singer. 


The  Birds  and  Poets  19 

to  have  gained  so  long  a  lead  over  the  rest  of  his 
kind  in  the  neighborhood  in  the  matter  of  mating. 
This  pair  seemed  to  be  the  earliest  in  nesting  of 
any  in  the  whole  vicinity.  I  saw  many  nests  being 
built,  two  and  three  weeks  later. 

Naturalists  are  a  good  deal  divided  in  opinion 
as  to  the  object  of  the  birds  in  singing,  and  as  to 
what  relation  it  bears  to  the  mating  of  the  birds. 
Certain  it  is  that  the  bird's  voice  serves  to  express 
various  emotions,  such  as  distress,  fear,  anger,  tri- 
umph, or  mere  happiness.  It  is  also  true  with 
many  species  that  the  female  is  attracted  to  the 
male  by  his  beautiful  appearance,  and  his  powers 
of  song,  selecting  the  male  that  pleases  her  most 
in  these  respects.  I  do  not  believe,  as  contended 
by  some;  that  the  singing  of  birds  is  almost  exclu- 
sively the  effect  of  rivalry  and  emulation.  Birds 
love  beautiful  and  attractive  things,  as  we  do, 
altho'  of  course  with  less  conscious  intelligence, 
and  the  beauty  of  form,  color  and  song  of  the 
male,  added  to  the  natural  mating  instinct  of  the 
female,  determines  her  choice.  With  few  excep- 
tions the  males,  during  the  mating  season,  exhibit 
something  very  like  a  definite  desire  and  inten- 
tion to  ensnare  the  female,  by  whatever  attractions 
nature  may  have  given  them,  whether  it  be  of  song 
or  plumage.  It  is  altogether  probable  that  the 
male  bird  has  a  mixed  purpose  in  singing,  made 
up  of  the  mere  joy  of  singing,  emulation,  and, 
during  the  mating  season,  an  instinctive  desire  to 
excite,  attract  or  fascinate  the  female  bird. 


2O  Twelve  Months  With 

It  is  not  necessary  to  go  far  into  the  fields  or 
deep  into  the  woods  to  see  many  of  our  finest 
birds.  "  'Tis  Eden  everywhere  to  hearts  that  listen." 
And  it  is  by  no  means  essential  to  a  real  enjoy- 
ment of  our  birds  that  one  should  be  a  scientific 
student  of  orders,  families,  and  all  the  rest  of  the 
technical  lore  of  the  professional  ornithologist, 
nor  even  to  be  able  to  identify  all  the  birds  that 
he  may  see.  If  he  only  sees  and  hears  them,  it 
is  enough.  For  those  whose  hearts  listen  when 
they  are  in  the  fields  or  woods,  no  bird  will  rise 
to  its  perch  without  being  seen  and  enjoyed,  and 
no  bird  will  utter  its  call  or  sing  its  song,  how- 
ever soft  or  ventriloquous,  without  its  being  heard 
and  loved. 

Emerson's  lines  are  still  true: 

"Many  haps  fall  in  the  field 
Seldom  seen  by  wishful  eyes 
But  all  her  shows  did  Nature  yield, 
To  please  and  win  this  pilgrim  wise. 
He  saw  the  partridge  drum  in  the  woods; 
He  heard  the  woodcock's  evening  hymn; 
He  found  the  tawny  thrushes'  broods; 
And  the  shy  hawk  did  wait  for  him; 
What  others  did  at  distance  hear, 
And  guessed  within  the  thicket's  gloom, 
Was  shown  to  this  philosopher, 
And  at  his  bidding  seemed  to  come." 

One  may  live  and  enjoy  life  without  being  able 
to  identify  many  of  the  more  uncommon  birds, 


The  Birds  and  Poets  21 

but  God  pity  the  man  who  never  sees  or  hears 
them,  when  they  are  all  about  him! 

One  must  not  be  content  to  take  only  his  body 
with  him  into  the  woods  and  fields,  if  he  would 
see  and  hear  and  enjoy,  for  their  sights  and  sounds 
are  a  part  of  the  natural  scene,  and  he  must  make 
his  own  spirit  a  part  of  such  scene  if  he  would 
have  full  companionship  with  it. 

"Lacking  the  heart-room  the  song  lies  dead; 
Half  is  the  song  that  reaches  the  ear, 
Half  is  the  hearing." 

Bird  notes,  with  some  exceptions,  are  elusive 
and  indefinite,  a  part  of  the  composite  hum  and 
atmosphere  of  the  woods,  and  to  the  careless  and 
unsympathetic  ear  are  not  naturally  or  easily 
detected  and  detached  from  the  general  ensem- 
ble of  woods  sounds.  But  to  him  who  is  "fellow 
to  leaf  and  flower,  brook,  bee,  and  bird,"  all  the 
little  voices  of  woods  and  fields  "speak  a  various 
language." 

"  'Kneel,'  whispered  the  breeze; 
On  wistful  knees 
In  the  swaying  grass  I  sank, 
While,  all  around, 
A  soft  choral  sound 
Swelled  from  bower  and  bank. 

Two  tender  blows, 

And  I  arose 

Of  sordid  aims  bereft, 


22  Twelve  Months  With 

By  the  accolade 

Of  a  green  grass-blade 

Ennobled  and  enfeoffed. 

Now  am  I  lord 

Of  weald  and  sward, 

Fellow  to  leaf  and  flower! 

Brook,  bee  and  bird 

Have  passed  the  word 

That  owns  me  from  this  hour !" 

By  some  such  "Sylvan  Ceremony,"  Charles 
Shepard  Parke  would  initiate  us  into  the  blessed 
order  of  out-of-door  spirits. 

Thoreau  once  said  that  sometimes  when  he 
went  into  the  woods  he  was  alarmed  to  find  he 
had  left  his  spirit  behind,  and  that  he  was  only 
projecting  his  body  on  its  way  into  the  forest. 

But  I  am  sure  that  one  must  not  only  be  accom- 
panied by  his  spirit  on  his  outdoor  rambles,  but 
that  his  spirit  must  also  be  "fellow  to  leaf  and 
flower,"  and  in  intimate  correspondence  with  all 
the  soft,  elusive  and  delicate  sense  communica- 
tions which  are  transmitted  by  all  nature  to  those 
and  to  those  only  who  are  attuned  to  hear  these 
quiet  messages. 

"A  child  of  nature,  that  is  child  of  God, 
I  count  these  lovely  kindred  mine." 

I  would  not  leave  the  impression  that  this  infi- 
nite order  of  the  spirits  of  nature  is  an  exclusive 


The  Birds  and  Poets  23 

society  of  aristocrats,  to  which  only  a  chosen  few 
may  hope  to  be  admitted.  On  the  contrary,  the 
order  is  as  wide  and  its  appeal  to  all  mankind  is 
as  open  and  urgent  and  inviting  as  nature  itself. 
All  the  joys  of  fellowship  and  kinship  with  nature 
are  to  be  had  for  the  mere  asking. 

I  know  of  no  plan  whereby  one  may  add  more 
to  his  happiness  than  by  a  study  of  our  birds  and 
their  habits. 

Emerson  called  them  his  darlings: 

"Darlings  of  children  and  of  bard, 
Perfect  kinds  by  vice  unmarred, 
All  of  worth  and  beauty  set 
Gems  in  Nature's  cabinet; 
These  the  fables  she  esteems 
Reality  most  like  to  dreams. 
Welcome  back,  you  little  nations, 
Far-travelled  in  the  south  plantations; 
Bring  your  music  and  rhythmic  flight, 
Your  colors  for  our  eyes'  delight." 

The  anxious  hunt  after  a  new  and  strange  bird, 
whose  song,  form  or  plumage  has  attracted  one's 
attention,  is  a  source  of  never-ending  interest  and 
enjoyment.  It  includes  all  the  coarser  joys  of  the 
sportsman,  and  many  finer  and  rarer  spiritual 
pleasures  which  are  unknown  to  the  mere  hunter 
of  game.  No  matter  how  thoroughly  acquainted 
one  may  be  with  the  birds,  he  may  run  into  a  sur- 
prise in  the  woods  or  fields  at  any  moment,  and 
happen  upon  a  bird  he  has  never  seen,  or  which 


24  'Twelve  Months  With 

may  be  exceedingly  rare  in  the  area  of  his  observa- 
tions. Bird  study  carries  with  it  the  satisfying  of 
an  interested  curiosity,  which  is  ever  on  the  alert 
for  a  new  discovery.  It  easily  adapts  itself  to  our 
accustomed  outdoor  sports  and  recreations,  such 
as  walking,  hunting  and  fishing.  And  while,  as 
we  have  said,  for  one  with  eyes  and  ears  for  the 
woods,  it  is  not  essential  to  the  enjoyment  of  bird 
life  that  one  shall  be  able  to  idenitfy  all  the  birds, 
it  is  of  course  true  that  the  more  one  knows  of 
them,  the  better  he  loves  them,  and  he  should  be 
familiar  with  the  names  and  characteristics  of  our 
more  common  birds. 

In  April  the  birds  appear  in  such  large  num- 
bers it  is  sometimes  confusing  to  the  student,  who 
finds  all  manner  of  strange  and  interesting  birds 
flying  about  him  in  the  woods  and  fields.  Before 
he  can  concentrate  upon  one  for  a  sufficient  length 
of  time  to  observe  its  markings,  song  or  habits, 
others  of  perhaps  greater  interest  divert  his  atten- 
tion, until  he,  like  a  child  who  happens  upon  a 
profusion  of  wild  flowers  in  the  woods,  in  his 
anxiety  to  reach  them  all,  misses  many.  It 
reminds  one  of  these  lines  from  a  poem  by 
Katherine  Tynan : 

"After  the  lark  the  swallow, 
Blackbird  in  hill  and  hollow, 
Thrushes  and  nightingales  all  roads  I  trod." 

The  best  time  of  day  for  observing  the  birds 
is  the  morning  or  the  late  afternoon,  especially 


The  Birds  and  Poets  25 

on  bright  days,  for  then  the  birds  are  out  in  their 
favorite  haunts,  feeding,  and  may,  if  carefully 
approached,  be  studied  at  close  range. 

The  eyesight  and  hearing  of  the  birds  is  far 
superior  to  that  of  man,  so  that  walking  in  the 
birds'  haunts  should  be  avoided  as  much  as  pos- 
sible. Upon  arrival  at  the  place  where  one  may 
expect  to  find  the  birds,  he  should  quietly  stand 
or  sit,  and  wait  for  them  to  appear.  A  favorite 
and  very  effective  ruse  to  attract  them  is  to  kiss 
the  back  of  the  hand,  held  closely  against  the 
mouth.  The  squeaking  sound  thus  produced 
closely  resembles  the  mating  call  of  many  birds, 
and  if  practiced  cautiously  will  often  bring  around 
the  observer  a  number  of  his  feathered  friends. 
While  the  eyesight  of  birds  is  very  keen,  they  are 
frightened  only  by  unusual  sounds  or  by  move- 
ment, and  if  one  stands  or  sits  still  he  will  find 
abundant  opportunities  for  studying  their  plumage 
and  habits. 

Observing  these  few  simple  precautions,  I  have 
found  that  the  crow,  the  most  cunning  and  alert 
of  all  our  birds,  the  fox  of  the  feathered  tribe, 
will  alight  in  a  tree  but  a  few  feet  distant,  and 
comport  himself  with  the  same  unconcern  as  if 
he  were  in  the  remotest  forest,  observed  by  no  one. 

Do  not  use  a  gun.     It  is  unnecessary. 

Opera  or  field  glasses,  however,  are  indis- 
pensable. The  distinguishing  marks  of  many 
birds  are  not  discernible  with  the  naked  eye  from 
the  distance  at  which  one  is  usually  compelled  to 


26  Twelve  Months  With 

observe  them.  With  a  good  small  glass,  and  the 
sun  at  one's  back,  the  markings  become  clear  and 
definite.  Notes  of  the  markings,  methods  of  flight, 
songs  and  calls  should  be  made  on  the  spot,  first, 
because  the  mere  process  of  reducing  them  to 
writing  tends  to  accuracy  of  observation  and 
description,  and  second,  because  the  memory  is 
faulty,  and  if  many  strange  birds  are  seen  the 
marks  and  songs  of  different  birds  will  become 
confused  in  the  mind  of  the  student,  so  that  he 
cannot  recall  them  definitely  when  he  consults 
his  key,  in  an  effort  to  identify  them. 

One  or  more  simple  guides  to  the  classification 
and  identification  of  birds  is  essential.  This,  sup- 
plemented by  a  book  listing  and  describing  the 
birds  of  the  local  area  in  which  the  student  lives, 
will  be  sufficient  for  all  his  purposes.  If,  in  addi- 
tion, a  good  museum  is  available  where  the 
mounted  birds  may  be  seen  and  studied,  much 
that  is  difficult  will  be  made  easy. 

If  these  suggestions  are  followed,  little  real 
difficulty  will  be  experienced  by  the  student  in 
identifying  the  more  common  birds,  and  many 
that  are  not  so  common,  and  the  joy  that  a  new 
identification  will  bring  will  more  than  compen- 
sate for  all  his  pains.  Often,  after  a  new  bird 
has  been  identified,  the  student  will  be  surprised 
to  find  how  common  it  is,  and  will  wonder  how 
he  has  passed  it  by,  unseen  and  unheard,  for  so 
many  years. 

In  my  own  modest  yard  I  am  visited  each  April 


The  Birds  and  Poets  27 

by  a  goodly  number  of  birds,  and  some  of  these  I 
would  not  even  notice  had  I  not  previously  met 
them  in  the  woods  and  fields  and  learned  to  love 
them. 

Judging  from  some  stories  which  have  been 
written,  doubtless  there  are  nature  enthusiasts 
who  would  even  ascribe  to  some  of  the  birds  a 
knowledge  of  social  proprieties  and  customs,  for 
certain  it  is  that  if  you  will  but  call  on  the  birds 
they  will  return  the  call,  and  you  will  know  and 
enjoy  them  when  they  come.  If  you  continue  treat- 
ing them  with  indifference,  and  never  care  to  see 
or  know  them,  it  is  quite  certain  you  never  will, — 
more's  the  pity.  They  will  not  first  seek  you  out, 
but  if  you  will  but  cultivate  their  acquaintance, 
you  will  see  them  often,  either  at  your  home  or  at 
theirs. 

In  addition  to  our  old  friends  the  robins,  I 
have  been  visited  this  April  by  blue  birds,  flickers, 
house  wrens,  towhees,  white-throated  sparrows, 
cedar  waxwings,  blue  jays,  wood,  Wilson  and  gray- 
cheeked  thrushes,  meadowlarks,  bronze  grackles, 
brown  thrashers,  song  sparrows  and  a  Grinnell's 
water  thrush, — and  I  shall  be  happy  indeed  to 
return  the  calls  of  each  and  every  one.  Some  of 
them  live  with  me  during  the  summer,  and  our 
home  life  without  them  would  lack  something  fine 
which  it  now  has.  The  song  sparrow  may  be  heard 
almost  any  spring  or  summer  day. 

Henry  Van  Dyke  claims  him  as  an  old  friend: 


28  Twelve  Months  With 

"There  is  a  bird  I  know  so  well, 

It  seems  as  if  he  must  have  sung 
Beside  my  crib  when  I  was  young; 

Before  I  knew  the  way  to  spell 

The  name  of  even  the  smallest  bird, 
His  gentle-joyful  song  I  heard. 

Now  see  if  you  can  tell,  my  dear, 

What  bird  it  is  that  every  year, 

Sings  'Sweet — sweet — sweet — very  merry  cheer'." 

A  song  sparrow  sang  this  refrain  a  few  evenings 
since  from  a  shrub  in  a  vacant  lot  adjoining  mine, 
in  a  sort  of  mixed  chorus  with  two  robins.  The 
robins  were  singing  together  their  usual  hymn- 
like,  warbling  song,  and  the  song  sparrow  broke 
in  at  regular  intervals  with  this  sweet,  musical 
refrain,  in  the  nature  of  an  obligate,  and  the 
chorus  they  made  was  far  superior  to  the  Met- 
ropolitan Opera,  and  to  be  had  for  the  mere 
listening! 

The  beautiful  white-throated  sparrows  arrive 
near  my  back  fence  about  the  i8th  of  April,  and 
flit  about  quietly  in  the  grass  and  leaves  and 
underbrush,  emitting  their  characteristic  low 

whistle:         J   J  ^3      and  shyly  scratch- 


ing with  both  feet  together  among  the  old  dead 
leaves.  Harrison  Smith  Morns'  "Lonely-Bird" 
well  describes  this  beautiful  sparrow: 

"O  dappled  throat  of  white !  Shy,  hidden  bird ! 
Perched  in  green  dimness  of  the  dewy  wood, 
And  murmuring,  in  that  lonely,  lover  mood, 

Thy  heart-ache,  softly  heard, 
Sweetened  by  distance,  over  land  and  lake." 


The  Birds  and  Poets  29 

The  gray-cheeked  thrushes  were  a  mystery  to 
me  for  one  long  season.  They  so  closely  resemble 
the  Bicknell's  thrush  and  the  olive-backed  thrush, 
and  the  Wilson's  thrush  or  veery,  that  they  can 
be  readily  distinguished  only  by  an  experienced 
observer.  During  my  first  summer  at  our  sub- 
urban home  they  appeared  upon  the  lawn  late  in 
April,  in  their  trim  olive-drab  gowns,  stealthily 
hopping  about  in  the  grass,  and  quietly  and  some- 
what anxiously  watching  any  one  who  approached 
near  them.  Their  coyness  was  emphasized  by 
the  light  ring  about  the  eye,  which  gave  them  an 
alert,  inquiring  expression.  Their  song  resembled, 
as  much  as  anything  that  could  be  suggested,  the 
musical  twanging  of  a  guitar.  I  was  unable  to 
identify  them  with  certainty  until  one  day,  after 
a  severe  storm,  I  found  a  dead  bird  near  the  walk, 
bordering  a  neighbor's  premises,  and  readily  iden- 
tified it  as  a  gray-cheeked  thrush.  Among  the 
little  groups  that  have  visited  us  each  season  since 
that  time,  during  the  spring  and  fall  migrations, 
there  has  been  an  occasional  olive-backed  thrush, 
but  aside  from  the  veery,  which  is  common  espe- 
cially during  migration,  the  gray-cheeked  is  per- 
haps the  most  abundant. 

Their  modest  appearance,  their  silent,  coy  man- 
ners, and  their  beautiful  and  unique  song  combine 
to  make  their  semi-annual  visits  of  unusual  interest. 

The  flickers  are  always  numerous  with  us  in 
April,  and  indeed  all  through  the  summer.  Their 
loud  spring  calls  of  "wick!  wick!  wick!  wick!" 


30  Twelve  Months  With 

and  the  vigorous,  nasal  "kee-yer!"  are  full  of  all 
the  joy  and  optimism  of  the  season,  and  almost 
any  morning  at  the  first  streak  of  dawn  one  of 
them  may  be  heard  vigorously  hammering  with 
his  bill  upon  any  available  object  which  offers  a 
good  sounding  board.  He  seems  to  enjoy  the 
rolling  tattoo  as  much  as  his  call,  and  it  has  a 
certain  music  of  its  own.  An  old,  dilapidated 
wren  box  in  my  yard  has  been  visited  almost  daily 
by  a  flicker.  After  alighting  upon  it  and  looking 
around  him  with  a  lordly  air,  he  proceeds  to  ham- 
mer on  the  top  of  the  empty  and  unusually  sonorous 
old  box,  and  after  each  strumming  he  raises  his 
head  erect,  and  sends  forth  his  ringing  clarion  of 
"wick!  wick!  wick!  wick!"  as  if  to  emphasize 
his  very  great  importance  in  the  whole  scheme 
of  nature, — which  program  of  alternate  drum- 
ming and  calling  is  carried  on  usually  for  fifteen 
or  twenty  minutes.  He  is  thus  seen  to  be  equally 
skilled  in  vocal  and  instrumental  music.  Flickers 
are  very  obviously  attracted  by  any  object  which 
affords  them  a  noisy  sounding  board  for  their 
drumming.  I  have  known  them  to  hammer  on 
loose  tin  or  metal  on  the  roof  of  houses  and  barns 
until  it  became  necessary  to  remove  or  cover  the 
attractive  metal  to  avoid  the  noisy  din.  As  this  tat- 
tooing sound  is  heard  chiefly  during  the  breeding 
season,  it  is  considered  by  some  as  a  love  song,  or 
a  love  call  to  the  bird's  mate. 

The  flicker  has  many  aliases,  as  many  as  thirty- 
six  having  been  compiled,  including,  among  the 


The  Birds  and  Poets  31 

more  common,  high-hole,  clape,  yellow-hammer 
and  golden-winged  woodpecker,  and,  while  he  is 
listed  in  the  family  of  picidae,  he  has  never  seemed 
to  me  a  true  woodpecker.  With  characteristic 
independence  he  constantly  disregards  almost  all 
the  accustomed  and  well-known  habits  of  his 
tribe.  Contrary  to  the  custom  of  woodpeckers,  he 
is  frequently  seen  disporting  himself  in  the  grass, 
often  in  the  company  of  robins  or  meadowlarks. 
More  often  than  otherwise  he  alights  upon  a  hori- 
zontal limb  of  a  tree,  rather  than  upon  an  upright 
stem  or  trunk,  after  the  manner  of  his  kind.  Now 
and  then,  just  contemptuously  to  show  the  world 
that  it  is  easily  done,  he  flies  against  the  side  of 
a  tree,  like  a  common  woodpecker,  grasps  the 
bark  with  his  claws,  and  supports  himself  in  an 
upright  position,  with  the  aid  of  his  heavy,  stiff 
tail  feathers.  Nor  does  he  depend  for  his  food 
upon  grubs  pecked  out  of  dead  limbs,  but,  like 
the  robin,  he  seems  to  find  worms  and  insects 
more  easily.  He  is  extremely  fond  of  ants,  and 
eats  seeds  and  a  great  variety  of  food  which  the 
red-head,  hairy  or  downy  woodpecker  would  not 
touch.  For  a  nest  he  always  appropriates  some 
natural  cavity,  instead  of  boring  a  hole  for  him- 
self, like  his  brother  woodpeckers.  I  have  won- 
dered that  Darwin  did  not  cite  the  flicker  as  an 
instance  of  variation  from  type,  and  speculate 
upon  his  ultimate  destiny  as  a  member  of  some 
other  family.  He  seems  dissatisfied  with  his  class, 
and  destined  for  some  other  and  different  order. 


32  Twelve  Months  With 

Who  knows  but  that,  with  his  joyous  optimism 
and  his  impudent,  self-reliant  spirit,  he  may  not 
some  day  be  in  a  class  by  himself? 

The  flicker  is  one  of  the  many  common  birds 
which,  like  the  perfume  of  some  old-fashioned 
garden  flower,  calls  up  old  associations,  as  in  Mr. 
S.  M.  McManus'  "Flicker  on  the  Fence": 

"Between  the  songs  and  silences  of  the  flicker  on  the 

fence, 
A  singing  his  old  fashioned  tune,  full  of  meanin'  and 

of  sense, 

I  fall  into  a  musin'  spell  sometimes  of  other  days, 
When  things  was  mostly  different,  leastwise  in  many 

ways; 

And  I  feel  so  kind  of  lon'some  with  the  new  things 

round  about, 
And  am  like  the  taller  candle,  waitin'  fer  to  be  snuffed 

out, 

I  look  around  to  find  a  sign  that  I  hain't  lost  my  sense, 
And  get  my  bearin's  when  I  hear  the  flicker  on  the 

fence." 

The  cedar  waxwings  are  peculiarly  gentle  and 
attractive  birds.  They  usually  travel  in  small 
troups  of  from  five  to  nine  birds,  flying  just  high 
enough  to  clear  the  treetops,  quietly  dropping 
down  into  a  tree  now  and  then  for  the  purpose 
of  feeding.  They  have  as  much  individuality  as 
the  flicker,  but,  unlike  him,  they  are  proverbially 
gentle  and  refined,  and  their  neat  brown  coats 


The  Birds  and  Poets  33 

always  have  the  appearance  of  being  "tailor 
made."  They  are  trim,  neat  and  genteel,  almost 
to  primness.  A  small  flock  of  five  flew  into  the 
top  of  a  soft  maple  in  my  yard  about  the  aoth  of 
April,  and  announced  their  presence  by  their  char- 
acteristic subdued  call,  which  Thoreau  describes 
as  their  "beady  note."  To  one  whose  ears  are 
attentive  to  bird  calls,  this  is  usually  the  first 
sign  of  the  cedar-bird's  presence,  for  the  call 
is  unusual  and  absolutely  distinctive,  somewhat 
resembling  a  subdued  "z"  sound  made  by  breath- 
ing through  a  comb  covered  with  tissue  paper. 
The  conspicuous  crest  and  neat  grayish-brown 
plumage,  with  this  characteristic  call,  make  iden- 
tification easy. 

The  saucy  blue  jay,  with  all  his  egg-stealing 
proclivities  and  his  quarrelsome  habits,  compels 
our  admiration.  He  is  impudent  and  disdainful 
in  his  conduct  toward  other  birds,  and  shows  his 
contempt  for  many  of  them  by  mimicking  their 
call  notes.  He  will  seldom  permit  another  bird 
of  any  kind  to  perch  in  the  same  tree  with  him. 
But,  after  all,  his  conduct  seems  more  inspired 
by  an  excess  of  hilarious  spirits  than  by  any  ill 
humor,  and  so  we  pardon  him  for  his  noise,  and 
love  him  for  his  saucy  enthusiasm.  While  the 
jay  has  a  number  of  short  notes  which  he  uses 
occasionally,  apparently  to  mimic  other  birds,  in 
addition  to  his  customary  "jay!  jay!"  (or  "make! 
make!"  as  my  small  boy  interprets  it),  few  have 
ever  heard  his  real  song.  He  has  a  pretty  war- 


34  Twelve  Months  With 

bling  refrain,  which  I  have  heard  rather  happily 
described  as  a  mixture  of  the  songs  of  the  blue 
bird  and  robin,  and  in  many  years  of  observation 
of  the  birds  I  have  never  been  sure  of  hearing 
his  song  but  once,  on  which  occasion  I  was  able 
to  observe  the  bird  while  singing.  It  is  a  pity 
he  doesn't  take  time  to  use  his  song  oftener,  but 
apparently  he  thinks  singing  is  effeminate  or  an 
unworthy  pastime,  and  therefore  contents  himself 
with  his  noisy  "make!  make!  make!" 

The  jay  is  another  bird  of  strong  individuality. 
The  blue  jay  is  the  only  one  of  the  family  in  this 
latitude,  east  of  the  Rocky  Mountains,  and  it  has 
therefore  been  the  only  jay  with  which  I  have 
been  familiar,  and  yet  its  individual  traits  are  so 
characteristic  and  distinctive,  and  therefore  so 
easily  detected  and  identified  in  other  members 
of  the  jay  family,  that  when  I  saw  the  mountain 
jay  for  the  first  time  in  the  Rockies  a  few  years 
ago  I  knew  it  instantly,  and  also  when  I  saw  the 
Canada  jay  for  the  first  time,  in  the  summer  of 
1915,  in  the  forests  of  Ontario,  I  identified  it  at 
once  without  difficulty.  A  jay  is  a  jay  the  world 
over.  His  plumage  may  vary  in  color,  but  he 
always  discloses  his  identity  by  his  characteristic 
movements,  and  by  what  Riley  called  his  "sass" : 

"Mr.  Bluejay,  full  o'  sass, 
In  them  baseball  clothes  o'  his, 
Sportin'  'round  the  orchard  jes' 
Like  he  owned  the  premises!" 


The  Birds  and  Poets  35 

Our  blue  jay  has  a  very  erect  and  conspicuous 
crest,  which  has  doubtless  been  gradually  acquired 
through  years  of  sauciness,  in  accordance  with  the 
laws  of  natural  selection  and  variation! 

Among  my  favorite  April  visitors  is  the  towhee 
or  chewink.  This  fine  bird  has  been  neglected 
by  ornithologists  and  poets  alike,  and  his  beauti- 
ful coat  and  quiet,  graceful  habits  are  "unhonored 
and  unsung."  He  is  as  beautiful  in  vernal 
plumage  as  the  Blackburnian  warbler,  or  the 
American  redstart,  but,  compared  with  the  host 
of  admirers  of  these  forest  favorites,  "there  are 
very  few  to  love  and  none  to  praise"  the  modest 
towhee.  I  stood  within  fifteen  feet  of  a  beautiful 
male  towhee  in  woods  bordering  the  Desplaines 
River,  about  the  i5th  of  April,  and  for  several 
minutes  watched  him  scratch  (both  feet  together) 
and  tumble  the  dead  leaves  about,  in  search  of 
food.  His  beautiful  velvety  black  head  and 
shoulders,  and  his  bright  vest  of  reddish  brown, 
and  his  long,  graceful  body,  and  his  conspicuous 
white  tail  feathers,  made  him  as  exquisite  a  wood's 
picture  as  one  often  sees. 

The  towhee  is  modest,  without  stealth;  proud, 
without  arrogance;  beautiful,  without  vanity.  He 
seeks  "the  untrodden  ways,"  and  is  coy  and  retir- 
ing in  his  habits.  You  will  always  find  him 
browsing  among  the  leaves,  or  twitching  about 
among  the  low  branches  of  shrubs  or  in  brush  piles. 
He  seldom  or  never  even  takes  a  high  perch,  so 
that  his  beautiful  coat  may  be  seen  and  admired. 


36  Twelve  Months  With 

He  seeks  no  publicity,  and  seems  not  to  care  for 
public  favor  or  approval.  These  traits  make  him 
none  the  less  worthy  of  our  love  and  apprecia- 
tion;— indeed,  how  much  finer  is  it  for  virtue  to 
be  found  out,  than  that  it  should  proclaim  itself 
from  the  treetops.  If  this  towhee  would  come  out 
of  his  quiet  haunts  and  perch  himself  upon  a  high 
tree,  and,  facing  the  setting  sun,  sing  us  a  ringing 
song  after  the  fashion  of  the  robin  or  the  wood 
thrush,  he  would  be  instantly  and  eternally  famous. 
Isn't  it  fortunate  that  we  love  some  birds  for  their 
quiet,  modest  and  gentle  ways,  and  that  we  may 
also  love  others  for  their  impudence  and  noise! 
Birds  thus  resemble  men  in  their  varying  indi- 
vidual traits  and  characteristics. 

The  meadowlarks  do  not  often  come  into  my 
yard,  altho'  they  will  now  and  then  alight  in  a 
tree  for  a  few  moments  in  passing,  but  I  can  hear 
their  clear,  ringing  call  every  day  in  the  meadows 
adjoining  the  river,  two  blocks  distant.  Few  bird 
songs  have  the  penetrating  intensity  of  the  meadow- 
lark's.  While  traveling  through  the  country  by 
rail  I  have  frequently  heard  its  ringing  call  at 
intervals  above  the  noise  and  rattle  of  the  train, 
recalling  the  lines  of  Ina  D.  Coolbrith: 

"Sweet,  sweet,  sweet!  Oh  happy  that  I  am! 

(Listen   to   the   meadow-larks   across   the   fields 

that  sing!) 

Sweet,  sweet,  sweet,  O  subtle  breath  of  balm, 
O  winds  that  blow,  O  buds  that  grow,  O  rapture  of 
the  spring!" 


The  Birds  and  Poets  37 

The  visit  of  the  Grinnell's  water  thrush  to  my 
yard  was  a  noteworthy  event.  While  this  bird  is 
perhaps  the  most  common  of  the  water  thrushes 
passing  through  this  area,  he  is  seldom  seen  away 
from  low,  wet  thickets,  and  I  was  much  surprised 
at  his  appearance  on  my  lawn.  While  he  is  classed 
as  a  warbler,  he  resembles  the  thrushes  in  appear- 
ance, though  he  is  smaller  and  less  brown,  having 
a  drab,  white-striped  coat,  and  he  moves  with  a 
marked  tilt  of  his  trim  body  as  he  pauses  in  his 
course  through  the  grass  or  among  the  low  bushes. 

However  brief  my  visits  to  the  woods  in  April 
may  be,  I  am  always  sure  of  a  warm  welcome 
from  the  birds  when  I  return  their  call,  and  it 
is  remarkable  what  a  vast  amount  of  pleasure  one 
may  receive  from  short  trips  of  this  kind,  stolen 
here  and  there  from  the  busy  hours  of  the  ordi- 
nary workdays.  The  birds  are  busy  much  earlier 
than  we  are,  and  it  is  not  at  all  necessary  that 
one's  appointments  with  them  be  either  inter- 
rupted or  cancelled  altogether  because  of  the 
business  cares  that  "infest  the  day."  We  may  see 
them  at  all  times  in  their  homes  in  the  early 
morning,  and  still  be  at  office  or  shop  in  ample 
time  for  the  day's  work. 

A  thirty-minute  walk  which  I  took  on  the 
morning  of  April  i3th  might  be  cited  as  an 
example.  I  crossed  a  bridge  over  the  Desplaines 
River,  and  in  the  meadow  lying  to  the  west  heard 
the  songs  of  both  field  and  song  sparrows  (among 
the  most  beautiful  songsters  of  the  sparrow  fam- 


38  Twelve  Months  With 

ily).  To  the  east,  across  the  bridge,  is  a  high 
wire  fence,  with  a  wooden  cornice,  the  whole 
covered  with  vines,  which  at  this  time  were 
still  bare  and  brown.  In. one  of  the  angles  of  the 
cornice,  and  partially  concealed  by  the  dark  vines, 
I  noticed  a  robin  building  a  nest.  A  few  feet 
farther  I  turned  into  a  street  bordering  the  woods 
and  leading  into  them,  and  in  the  front  yard  of  a 
vacant  house  saw,  among  the  bare  shrubbery,  a 
kinglet  (a  small  king!),  pluming  his  feathers,  as 
if  he  had  just  taken  his  morning's  bath  and  was 
making  his  toilet  for  the  day.  Watching  him 
carefully  as  he  fluttered  and  turned  about,  I 
caught  sight  of  the  tuft  of  bright  red  feathers 
on  the  crown  of  his  head,  which  marked  him  as 
the  ruby-crown,  and  then,  his  toilet  finished,  he 
poured  forth  his  joy  in  the  finest  little  soft  and 
yet  distinct  wren-like  song  that  it  has  ever  been 
my  good  fortune  to  hear.  The  kinglet's  song, 
while  clear  and  distinct  at  close  range,  is  not  loud, 
and  cannot  be  heard  at  any  considerable  distance. 
And,  again,  these  little  birds  are  usually  so  busy 
hopping  about  the  lower  trunks  of  trees  and  among 
the  lower  branches,  feeding,  that  they  apparently 
have  little  time  for  singing.  The  small,  wren-like, 
olive-green  bodies  of  the  ruby-crowned  and  golden- 
crowned  kinglets  are  very  similar  in  appearance, 
and  sometimes  they  are  not  easily  distinguished, 
except  by  the  bright  markings  on  the  crown,  which 
give  them  their  respective  names,  although  the 
golden-crowned  is  somewhat  smaller.  The  names 


The  Birds  and  Poets  39 

of  these  little  birds  are  sometimes  misleading  to 
the  student,  because  he  expects  to  see  a  conspicuous 
red  or  golden  patch  on  the  head,  but  as  a  matter 
of  fact  the  red  or  golden  patch  is  not  easily  seen 
unless  the  bird  tips  his  head  down,  so  one  may  see 
the  very  top  of  his  head  (which  he  is  sure  to  do 
if  one  watches  him  a  few  moments,  because  of  his 
very  great  activity),  but  when  he  does  so  a  very 
few  distinctly  marked  feathers  in  the  center  of 
the  crown  will  be  visible. 

In  an  adjoining  meadow,  just  before  reaching 
the  woods,  I  observed  a  sparrow  hawk  flying  about 
and  "hanging  up"  over  the  field,  in  search  of  his 
morning  meal. 

Passing  into  the  woods  skirting  the  river,  I  fol- 
lowed a  path  which  led  through  heavy  brush  and 
second  growth,  as  yet  entirely  bare,  with  no  signs 
of  spring  buds.  The  first  bird  note  I  heard  was  the 
whistle  of  a  cardinal  in  the  distance,  towards  the 
river,  and  I  recalled  Riley's  tribute  to  the  "red 
bird" : 

"Go,  ye  bards  of  classic  themes 
Pipe  your  songs  of  classic  streams ! 
I  would  twang  the  redbird's  wings 
In  the  thicket  while  he  sings!" 

Pausing  to  listen  to  this  wonderful  song,  I  was 
startled  to  hear,  among  the  bare  bushes  at  my 
right,  a  chorus  of  clicking  noises  which  sounded 
exactly  like  a  shower  of  fine  hail  stones  falling 
among  the  leafless  shrubs.  The  impression  was 


40  Twelve  Months  With 

so  realistic  that  I  involuntarily  glanced  skyward 
to  see  if  any  passing  leaden  cloud  could  be  respon- 
sible for  this  commotion,  when  I  discovered  a 
large  flock  of  juncos,  in  their  drab  coats,  flitting 
about  in  the  brush,  showing  their  white  tail 
feathers  with  every  "tsip!  tsip!"  that  they  uttered. 
The  familiar  call  of  this  little  bird  is  almost  icy 
in  its  brittle  staccato,  and  suggests  the  cold  wintry 
days  when  they  are  so  plentiful,  and  which  they 
seem  to  enjoy  quite  as  much  as  the  warm  days 
of  spring.  But  the  balmy  air  and  bright  sunshine 
of  this  April  morning  seemed  also  to  fill  the  juncos 
to  the  bursting  point,  for  one  or  two  of  them 
perched  upon  a  neighboring  tree  and  poured 
forth  their  happiness  in  their  rather  rare  and 
unusual  song. 

In  the  meantime  I  had  caught  sight  of  the 
female  cardinal,  on  the  opposite  side  of  the  path, 
feeding  among  some  old  vines  overhanging  the 
low  trees,  and  while  watching  her  some  disturb- 
ance along  the  river  beyond  her  flushed  her  bril- 
liant mate,  who  came  flying  directly  over  me,  like 
a  ball  of  fire,  alighting  on  the  opposite  side  of 
the  path. 

Retracing  my  steps  to  the  entrance  of  the  woods, 
I  observed  a  pair  of  yellow-bellied  sapsuckers 
chasing  each  other  about  through  the  trees,  and 
returning  after  each  excursion  to  a  small  poplar 
directly  in  front  of  me,  where  they  would  rest 
a  moment,  clinging  to  an  upright  limb,  or  to  the 
tree  trunk,  talking  confidentially  to  each  other, 


The  Birds  and  Poets  41 

and  then  off  they  would  go  on  another  helter- 
skelter  through  the  naked  branches,  and  back 
again  to  the  favorite  poplar.  While  watching  the 
play  of  the  sapsuckers,  a  myrtle  warbler  flew  into 
the  poplar  and  exhibited  his  conspicuous  yellow 
rump,  which  makes  his  identification  so  easy.  Just 
as  I  was  saying  a  reluctant  farewell  to  my  feathered 
friends,  a  troup  of  five  or  six  trim  cedar-birds 
flew  into  the  tops  of  the  trees  bordering  the  woods, 
coming  from  the  direction  of  the  village,  and,  after 
pausing  long  enough  to  bid  me  "good  morning," 
continued  their  journey  on  into  the  woods. 

This  was  by  no  means  an  unusual  or  exceptional 
April  morning  for  the  bird  lover.  Indeed,  the 
number  and  variety  of  birds  seen  was  insignificant 
as  compared  with  what  might  be  observed  upon  a 
longer  trip,  or  one  taken  later  in  the  migrating 
season. 

Yet  when  thirty  minutes,  by  the  way,  will  yield 
so  much  of  enjoyment  and  inspiration,  why  do 
we  not  more  often  make  these  little  saunterings  a 
part  of  our  work-a-day  lives,  to  cheer  and  brighten 
them,  thenceforth  and  forever? 

I  always  regret  the  departure  of  April, — but 
she  ushers  in  flowery  May,  thus  reminding  us 
of  the  beautiful  lines  of  Oliver  Wendell  Holmes: 

"At  last  young  April,  ever  frail  and  fair, 
Wooed  by  her  playmate  with  the  golden  hair, 
Chased  to  the  margin  of  receding  floods 
O'er  the  soft  meadows  starred  with  opening  buds, 
In  tears  and  blushes  sighs  herself  away, 
And  hides  her  cheek  beneath  the  flowers  of  May." 


MAY. 

In  this  May-month  by  grace 

of  heaven,  things  shoot  apace. 
The  waiting  multitude 

of  fair  boughs  in  the  wood, — 
How  few  days  have  arrayed 

their  beauty  in  green  shade! 

The  golden  willows  lift 

their  boughs  the  sun  to  sift: 

Their  silken  streamers  screen 

the  sky  with  veils  of  green, 

To  make  a  cage  of  song, 

where  feathered  lovers  throng. 

Hearing  their  song,  I  trace 

the  secret  of  their  grace. 
Ah,  could  I  this  fair  time 

so  fashion  into  rhyme, 
The  poem  that  I  sing 

would  be  the  voice  of  spring. 

— Robert  Bridges. 

jHE  older  poets  loved  to  describe 
May  as  a  beautiful  maiden, 
clothed  in  sunshine  and  scattering 
flowers  on  the  earth,  while  she 
danced  to  the  music  of  birds  and 
brooks. 
For  example,  Spencer  wrote: 

"Then  came  fair  May,  the  fayrest  mayd  on  ground, 

Deckt  all  with  dainties  of  her  season's  pryde, 
And  throwing  flowers  out  of  her  lap  around." 


44  Twelve  Months  With 

It  would  be  impossible  for  a  poet  to  employ  a 
prettier  or  happier  figure  to  express  the  freshness 
and  youthful  beauty  of  the  May  time.  Of  course 
the  futurists  and  "cubists"  of  modern  poetry  never 
write  about  anything  so  old  and  hackneyed  as 
"spring"  or  "May."  They  more  often  depend 
upon  genre  pictures  for  inspiration  for  their  vers 
libre — which  probably  accounts  for  their  showing 
so  little  of  it ! 

But  to  the  real  poet  it  was  as  natural  as  express- 
ing his  thoughts  in  rhyme  to  write  of  spring  as  a 
beautiful  maiden  in  all  the  fresh  radiance  of 
youth. 

"When  the  world  that  still  was  April 
Was  turning  into  May," — 

the  transition  was  merely  the  fulfillment  of  the 
wonderful  promise  of  April. 

The  bud  of  April  is  the  blossom  of  May.  The 
fresh  fulfillment  of  so  glorious  a  promise  as  April 
holds  could  not  well  escape,  in  the  order  of  nature, 
its  manifest  destiny  of  fragrance  and  beauty. 

May  holds  not  the  matronly  maturity  of  June, 
but  it  holds  something  sweeter  and  more  lovable. 

It  is 

"As  if  time  brought  a  new  relay 
Of  shining  virgins  every  May." 

Birds,  like  men,  enjoy  the  beauties  and  the  deli- 
cious perfumes  of  May,  and  it  is  therefore  not  at 


The  Birds  and  Poets  45 

all  strange  that  they  prefer  nesting  and  rearing 
their  little  families  among  the  May  flowers. 
Surely  the  beauties  of  nature  were  designed  for 
all  creatures,  as  justly  claimed  by  Christina 
Rossetti : 

"Innocent  eyes  not  ours 

Are  made  to  look  on  flowers, 
Eyes  of  small  birds  and  insects  small; 

Morn  after  summer  morn 

The  sweet  rose  on  her  thorn 
Opens  her  bosom  to  them  all. 

The  last  and  least  of  things 

That  soar  on  quivering  wings, 
Or  crawl  among  the  grass  blades  out  of  sight, 

Have  just  as  clear  a  right 
To  their  appointed  portion  of  delight 

As  queens  or  kings." 

Man  has  always  assumed  a  vast  superiority 
over  all  other  created  things,  and  has  attempted 
to  establish  it  as  a  fact  by  making  it  a  part  of  his 
religion.  To  the  Roman,  all  others  are  barba- 
rians. To  the  Christian,  all  others  are  heathen. 
To  man,  all  other  animals  are  inferior,  and  living 
simply  for  his  use  and  entertainment.  Who  knows 
what  the  great  truths  of  nature  may  be?  As  we 
live  and  move  upon  our  own  little  planet,  man 
appears  to  our  vision  to  be  nature's  crowning 
work,  and  we  are  now  looking  forward  to  a  super- 
man who  shall  eventually  bridge  the  span  between 


46  Twelve  Months  With 

earth  and  heaven.  Maeterlinck  in  his  "Life  of 
the  Bee"  says :  "We  conclude  that  we  stand  on  the 
topmost  pinnacle  of  life  on  this  earth;  but  this  be- 
lief, after  all,  is  by  no  means  infallible." 

As  our  little  planet  is  probably  the  illimitable 
universe  of  the  ants,  is  it  not  quite  as  reasonable 
to  suppose  our  universe  to  be  merely  the  little 
world  of  some  super-creature  that  we  know  not 
of?  The  animals  in  "Alice  in  Wonderland" 
seemed  to  regard  Alice  as  an  inferior  because 
of  her  different  physical  form. 

I  am  quite  sure  the  ants  and  many  other  tiny 
creatures  regard  us  as  very  awkward,  clumsy, 
elephantine,  foolish  folk,  following  after  many 
strange  gods,  and  wholly  missing  the  real  pur- 
pose of  life,  which  is  not  to  gain,  but  to  be 
success, — merely  to  let  life  flow  through  us,  in  all 
its  fullness,  in  the  same  simple  manner  that  the 
flowers  grow  and  the  birds  sing. 

Emerson  expresses  this  sentiment  in  "Musketa- 
quid": 

"Canst  thou,  thy  pride  forgot,  like  nature  pass 
Into  the  winter  night's  extinguished  mood? 
Canst  thou  shine  now,  then  darkle, 
And  being  latent,  feel  thyself  no  less?" 

And  Van  Dyke  prays  for  this  power  to  live 
naturally: 

"By  the  faith  that  the  flowers  show  when  they  bloom 
unbidden, 


The  Birds  and  Poets  47 

By  the  calm  of  the  river's  flow  to  a  goal  that  is  hidden, 
By  the  trust  of  the  tree  that  clings  to  its  deep 

foundation, 
By  the  courage  of  wild  birds'  wings  on  the  long 

migration, 
(Wonderful  secret  of  peace  that  abides  in  Nature's 

breast!) 
Teach  me  how  to  confide,  and  live  my  life,  and  rest." 

Edwin  Markham  appropriately  compares  our 
civilization  with  that  of  the  ants,  in  a  poem  which 
he  has  beautifully  named  "Little  Brothers  of  the 
Ground" : 

"Little  ants  in  leafy  wood, 
Bound  by  gentle  Brotherhood, 
While  ye  gaily  gather  spoil, 
Men  are  ground  by  the  wheel  of  toil; 
While  ye  follow  Blessed  Fates, 
Men  are  shriveled  up  with  hates; 
Yes,  they  eat  the  wayside  dust, 
While  their  souls  are  gnawed  by  rust. 

Ye  are  f raters  in  your  hall, 

Gay  and  chainless,  great  and  small ; 

All  are  toilers  in  the  field, 

All  are  sharers  in  the  yield. 

But  we  mortals  plot  and  plan 

How  to  grind  the  fellow  man; 

Glad  to  find  him  in  a  pit, 

If  we  get  some  gain  of  it. 

So  with  us,  the  sons  of  Time, 

Labor  is  a  kind  of  crime, 


48  Twelve  Months  With 

For  the  toilers  have  the  least, 
While  the  idlers  lord  the  feast. 
Yes,  our  workers  they  are  bound, 
Pallid  captives  to  the  ground; 
Jeered  by  traitors,  fooled  by  knaves, 
Till  they  stumble  into  graves. 

How  appears  to  tiny  eyes 

All  this  wisdom  of  the  wise?" 

At  least  it  becomes  us  not  to  magnify  unduly 
our  own  importance  in  the  universe,  and  greedily 
accept  all  the  beautiful  things  of  nature  as  our 
rightful  due,  created  expressly  for  our  own  par- 
ticular use  or  pleasure,  without  at  least  showing 
our  appreciation  and  giving  thanks!  If  we  had 
brought  as  much  joy  and  beauty  and  harmony 
into  the  world  as  the  birds,  we  might  then  be 
justified  in  claiming  kinship  with  them,  as  Lowell 
did  when  he  recalled  his  untainted  boyhood  as  the 
time  "when  birds  and  flowers  and  I  were  happy 
peers." 

In  this  latitude  the  month  of  May  is  the  very 
height  of  the  nesting  and  migration  season.  Per- 
haps more  birds  nest  with  us  in  May  than  in  any 
other  month  of  the  year,  and  practically  all  of  the 
spring  migration  takes  place  between  the  fifteenth 
of  April  and  the  first  of  June. 

Our  regular  May  birds,  it  seems,  will  not  come 
in  April,  no  matter  how  favorable  the  weather 
may  be.  I  have  often  looked  for  some  of  the 
usual  May  arrivals  in  April,  because  of  early 


The  Birds  and  Poets  49 

warm  weather,  but  the  Baltimore  oriole,  the 
scarlet  tanager,  the  bobolink,  many  of  the  war- 
blers and  other  birds  will  not  come  until  May. 
They  are  true  to  May,  no  matter  how  warm  a 
welcome  April  may  offer  them. 

Contrary  to  the  popular  impression  and  the 
early  opinions  of  students  of  migration,  tempera- 
ture has  but  little  influence  upon  the  migratory 
habits  of  the  birds.  Food  supply  is  undoubtedly 
the  most  controlling  consideration.  Those  birds 
whose  favorite  food  can  readily  be  obtained  in 
winter,  uninterrupted  by  snow  or  other  weather 
conditions,  are  usually  permanent  residents,  and 
do  not  migrate  southward  in  autumn.  Birds  have 
wonderful  breathing  capacity,  and  hence  great 
animal  heat,  and  seldom  are  seriously  affected  by 
cold  weather  alone.  Tiny  chickadees,  creepers 
and  nuthatches  seem  less  inconvenienced  by  the 
cold,  sharp  air  of  winter  than  we  do.  The  food 
of  many  birds  is  quite  inaccessible  in  winter,  how- 
ever, and  the  ever-present  and  controlling  impulse 
of  self-preservation  unfailingly  directs  them  to 
their  food  supply.  But,  given  an  abundance  of 
its  favorite  food,  a  bird's  movements  no  longer 
seem  to  be  governed  by  the  calendar.  Red-headed 
woodpeckers,  for  example,  were  supposed  to 
migrate  southward  in  the  fall  and  pass  the  win- 
ter south  of  Maryland,  until  Dr.  Merriam,  in 
his  interesting  account*  of  the  habits  of  this  spe- 
cies, tells  that  in  one  county  in  New  York  their 

*  Bull.  Nutt.  Orn.  Club,  Hi,  1878,  pp.  123-128. 


50  Twelve  Months  With 

abundance  in  winter  was  in  no  way  affected  by 
the  seventy  of  the  weather,  but  was  entirely 
dependent  upon  the  success  of  the  crop  of  beech- 
nuts, which  constituted  their  food. 

Many  of  the  nature  poets  refer  to  the  birds  as 
seeking  warmer  climes.  The  subject  of  migration 
very  naturally  appeals  to  the  poet's  imagination, 
and  the  balmy  air  and  sunshine  of  the  southland 
is  a  far  more  inspiring  theme  for  the  poet  than 
mere  food,  but  the  latter  is  the  really  practical, 
essential,  habit-producing  thing,  after  all. 

With  all  the  scientific  study  and  research  that 
has  been  given  to  the  subject  of  migration  of 
the  birds,  especially  during  the  last  few  years, 
it  still  remains  a  mystery,  and  doubtless  always 
will,  and  it  is  not  at  all  surprising  that  the  poet's 
imagination  has  been  fired  by  it.  One  of  the 
most  beautiful  early- American  poems  was  inspired 
by  a  migrating  bird, —  Bryant's  lines  "To  a 
Waterfowl": 

"Whither,  'midst  falling  dew, 
While  glow  the  heavens  with  the  last  steps  of  day, 
Far,  through  their  rosy  depths,  dost  thou  pursue 
Thy  solitary  way? 


There  is  a  power  whose  care 
Teaches  thy  way  along  that  pathless  coast, 
The  desert  and  illimitable  air — 

Lone  wandering,  but  not  lost. 


The  Birds  and  Poets  51 

All  day  thy  wings  have  fanned, 
At  that  far  height,  the  cold  thin  atmosphere, 
Yet  stoop  not,  weary,  to  the  welcome  land, 

Though  the  dark  night  is  near, 

And  soon  that  toil  shall  end; 
Soon  shalt  thou  find  a  summer  home,  and  rest 
And  scream  among  thy  fellows ;  reeds  shall  bend, 

Soon,  o'er  thy  sheltered  nest." 

Browning  expressed  the  same  faith  in  that 
"power  whose  care"  teaches  his  own  path,  as  He 
teaches  the  paths  of  the  birds: 

"I  see  my  way  as  birds  their  trackless  way. 
I  shall  arrive,  what  time,  what  circuit  first 
I  ask  not — *     *     * 

In  sometime,  His  good  time,  I  shall  arrive : 
He  guides  me  and  the  bird.  In  His  good  time !" 

No  other  explanation  than  that  given  by  these 
poets  has  yet  been  offered  for  the  unerring  instinct 
of  the  birds  in  seeking  their  old  feeding  grounds 
and  breeding  haunts,  often  thousands  of  miles 
removed  from  their  winter  base. 

Many  interesting  facts,  however,  have  been 
established  with  reference  to  the  regular  semi- 
annual migration  of  many  of  the  birds,  but  how 
they  are  able  successfully  to  traverse  such  great 
distances,  often  oversea  for  many  hundreds  of 
miles,  and  return  to  the  same  area  season  after 
season,  is  one  of  nature's  riddles. 


52  Twelve  Months  With 

Many  influences,  however,  have  a  more  or  less 
important  bearing  upon  the  migration  of  the 
birds,  among  which  may  be  mentioned  coast  lines, 
river  channels,  food  supply,  sex  impulses,  hun- 
ger, love,  homing  instinct,  inherited  or  acquired 
memory,  temperature,  storm  conditions,  magnetic 
meridians,  etc.,  all  of  which  are  good  as  far  as 
they  go,  but  none  of  them,  nor  all  of  them  together 
can  wholly  account  for  the  phenomenon. 

The  ancients  observed  that  some  birds  visited 
them  only  for  short  periods  and  at  certain  seasons, 
but  they  apparently  sought  or  found  no  explana- 
tion for  it,  and  some  thought  that  the  birds 
hibernated,  after  the  manner  of  certain  animals 
who  thus  survive  the  period  when  the  food 
supply  is  entirely  cut  off. 

While  flying  is  not  the  only  way  in  which 
animals  migrate,  it  is  the  most  effective,  and  most 
of  the  birds  are  thus  structurally  well  provided 
with  the  means  of  escaping  from  the  disastrous 
effects  of  adverse  circumstances,  and  in  this  way 
nature  has  wisely  provided  against  the  necessity 
for  hibernation. 

The  fact  that  the  birds  are  endowed  with  the 
power  of  flight  suggests  some  things  which  doubt- 
less have  had  an  influence  upon  the  cause  or 
origin  of  migration.  For  example,  this  power 
enables  the  birds  to  avoid  many  of  their  natural 
enemies,  and  also  to  move  rapidly  from  one  feed- 
ing ground  to  another.  They  have  therefore 
naturally  traveled  away  from  those  things  which 


The  Birds  and  Poets  53 

were  disadvantageous  to  them,  and  sought  condi- 
tions that  were  more  favorable.  In  the  same 
manner  they  formed  habits  of  wandering  in  search 
of  food.  In  their  wanderings,  which  gradually 
have  been  extended  over  wider  and  wider  areas, 
they  have  discovered  attractive  feeding  grounds 
and  suitable  nesting  places;  and  when  to  this  are 
added  the  other  recognized  influences,  the  cause  of 
or  reason  for  migration  is  about  as  fully  explained 
as  it  ever  will  be. 

When  about  to  give  birth  to  a  calf,  the  domes- 
ticated cow  will  sometimes  break  out  of  the  barn 
or  yard  and  hide  herself  in  the  protecting  woods 
or  brush.  Although  a  pet  cow,  she  will  defend 
the  retreat  against  all  comers,  and  allow  no  one 
to  approach  her  young.  This  action  represents 
a  reversion  to  the  habits  of  her  wild  ancestors, 
forced  to  the  surface  by  the  great  elemental  fact 
of  reproduction.  Many  wild  animals  act  in  a 
similar  manner  under  these  circumstances,  often 
travelling  considerable  distances.  I  have  some- 
times wondered  if  it  might  not  have  been  a  simi- 
lar elemental  impulse  in  the  birds  which  in  the 
dim  past  was  the  real  cause  or  origin  of  the  present 
fixed  habit  of  long-distance  migration.  The  ease 
with  which  the  birds  might  respond  to  this  impulse, 
with  their  wonderful  powers  of  flight,  would  make 
such  movements  on  their  part  most  natural. 

Certain  it  is  that  as  our  northern  spring 
approaches,  the  sex  impulse,  the  strongest  of  all 
animal  impulses,  upon  which  reproduction  and 


54  Twelve  Months  With 

the  very  existence  of  the  species  depend,  over- 
comes all  other  desires,  and  the  bird  grows  restless 
and,  guided  by  the  hereditary  instincts  mentioned, 
it  seeks  its  breeding  area. 

Wanderings  in  search  of  food  or  in  response 
to  the  sex  impulse  might,  of  course,  lead  in  any 
direction,  and  be  entirely  aimless,  as  originally 
they  doubtless  were,  but,  following  the  course 
most  obviously  to  their  advantage,  the  birds  now 
usually  travel  south  in  search  of  food,  and  north 
in  search  of  home,  and  these  journeys  have  grad- 
ually been  extended  until  they  now  cover  hundreds 
of  miles  over  both  land  and  sea. 

Some  very  interesting  facts  have  been  definitely 
ascertained  with  reference  to  the  height  that  birds 
attain  during  migration,  and  the  speed  and  dis- 
tances traveled.  Birds,  in  migrating,  often  ascend 
to  great  heights,  for  which  two  principal  reasons 
have  been  assigned:  first,  that  it  increases  the  range 
of  vision,  and,  second,  that  they  thereby  reach  a 
zone  or  stratum  of  atmosphere  in  which  flight  may 
be  more  easy.  In  1888  Dr.  Frank  M.  Chapman 
published  an  account  of  certain  observations  made 
by  him,  in  which  he  calculated  that  the  birds 
traveled  at  heights  varying  from  600  to  15,000 
feet.  A  number  of  the  birds  which  he  observed 
were  seen  flying  upwrards,  crossing  the  moon  there- 
fore diagonally,  "these  evidently  being  birds  which 
had  arisen  in  our  immediate  neighborhood,  and 
were  seeking  the  proper  elevation  at  which  to 


The  Birds  and  Poets  55 

continue  their  flight."*  Beginning  their  flight, 
birds  have  been  observed  flying  upwards  in  an  al- 
most perpendicular  direction,  until  they  reached 
heights  beyond  the  range  of  the  natural  vision. 
They  usually  rise  to  the  greatest  heights  when  start- 
ing upon  oversea  journeys. 

Ducks  and  geese  normally  travel  at  about  40 
to  50  miles  per  hour,  but  Prof.  J.  Stebbins  and 
Mr.  E.  A.  Fath  made  careful  calculations  from 
observations  with  a  telescope,  and  found  that  birds 
passed  at  rates  varying  from  80  to  130  miles  per 
hour.f  With  favorable  winds,  even  these  rates  of 
speed  are  sometimes  greatly  increased. 

The  distances  traveled  by  the  birds,  some  of 
them  so  tiny  that  one  would  think  they  would  be 
wholly  lost  in  the  wide  blue  expanse  of  heaven, 
are  very  remarkable.  The  palm  warbler,  which 
is  a  common  migrant  with  us  in  May,  nests  in 
Canada,  3000  miles  from  Cuba,  its  winter  home. 
It  is  a  tiny  bird,  about  five  inches  long,  less  than 
half  the  size  of  a  robin.  Similar  long  trips  are 
made  by  many  of  the  other  warblers  that  are  so 
small  that  the  ordinary  casual  observer  never  sees 
them  at  all  as  they  flit  about  in  our  treetops  in 
May  and  September. 

The  American  golden  plover  nests  along  the 
Arctic  coast  from  Alaska  to  Hudson  Bay,  and 
winters  in  Argentina,  in  southern  South  America, 
8000  miles  distant,  and  in  the  course  of  its  migra- 

•Auk,  1888,  p.  37. 

t  Science  [New  York],  rriv.,  1906,  p.  49. 


56  Twelve  Months  With 

tion  to  its  winter  home  makes  the  longest  single- 
flight  oversea  journey  of  which  we  have  any 
record.  This  flight  is  from  the  coast  of  Nova 
Scotia  across  the  Atlantic  southward  to  South 
America,  a  distance  of  2500  miles.  These  birds 
have  magnificent  powers  of  flight,  and  Mr.  G.  H. 
Mackay  thinks,  with  reason,  that  in  making  this 
long  oversea  journey  under  favorable  conditions 
they  travel  at  a  speed  of  from  150  to  200  miles 
per  hour. 

The  Eastern  or  Pacific  golden  plover  winters 
in  certain  islands  of  the  Southern  Pacific  Ocean, 
including  the  Low  Archipelago,  which  is  5000 
miles,  by  direct  air  route,  but  about  11,000  miles, 
by  way  of  its  migration  route  from  Alaska,  which 
is  also  the  summer  home  of  this  species.  These 
two  golden  plovers,  therefore,  which  are  sub-spe- 
cifically distinct,  nest  in  Alaska  little  more  than 
one  hundred  miles  apart,  and  one  travels  east 
through  Nova  Scotia,  and  south  8000  miles  to 
South  America,  and  the  other  travels  south-west  to 
Siberia  and  China,  and  then  south-east  to  the 
islands  of  the  southern  Pacific,  a  distance  of  about 
1 1,000  miles.  These  two  birds,  very  similar  in  gen- 
eral appearance,  nesting  in  the  same  area,  never 
fail  to  separate  into  two  distinct  migrating  groups, 
one  travelling  south-west  11,000  miles,  and  the 
other  south-east  8000  miles,  to  winter  homes  as 
remote  from  each  other  as  they  could  well  be  in 
two  widely  divergent  species. 

Our  robin  makes  a  leisurely  3OOO-mile  trip  twice 


The  Birds  and  Poets  57 

a  year,  taking  about  seventy-eight  days  for  each 
trip. 

Most  of  the  birds  when  migrating,  travel  at 
night,  and  feed  by  day.  Many  of  the  most  inter- 
esting and  reliable  observations  on  record  have 
been  made  at  lighthouses,  and  elsewhere  by  view- 
ing with  a  telescope  the  face  of  the  moon,  across 
which  the  birds  have  been  seen  flying. 

Many  of  our  summer  residents  may  be  called 
half-migrating,  for  while  they  usually  migrate 
southward  in  the  fall,  and  return  in  the  spring 
they  sometimes  remain  in  the  north  during  the 
winter,  especially  in  neighborhoods  where  the 
requisite  food  may  be  had,  thus  proving  again  that 
food  is  the  most  controlling  consideration  in  the 
migration  of  the  birds.  Among  the  common  birds 
that  sometimes  spend  the  winters  with  us  may  be 
mentioned  the  robin,  blue  bird,  meadowlark, 
junco,  kinglets,  cardinal,  nuthatch,  woodpeckers, 
chickadee,  goldfinch,  and  certain  of  the  sparrows. 
The  casual  observer  seldom  sees  any  of  them  in 
winter,  but  to  eyes  that  see  and  hearts  that  listen, 
they  frequently  bring  a  message  of  gladness  into 
the  dreary  wastes  of  winter.  I  have  several  times 
seen  the  robin  in  midwinter,  and  the  other  birds 
mentioned  are  not  infrequent  winter  residents  or 
transient  visitants.  A  bird  lover  friend  of  mine 
whose  home  is  adjacent  to  a  dense  wood  adjoining 
a  river,  where  the  cardinals  nest  every  summer  has 
induced  one  of  these  beautiful  birds  to  winter  with 
him,  by  feeding  him  all  summer  and  late  into  the 


58  Twelve  Months  With 

fall  until  the  bird  apparently  forgets  to  migrate  to 
a  warmer  clime.  Many  winter  and  semi-migra- 
tory birds  may  be  attracted  to  one's  home  in  both 
summer  and  winter  by  a  regular  practice  of  feed- 
ing, and  by  a  permanent  basin  of  water  for  the 
birds  to  use  for  drinking  and  bathing. 

The  birds  one  may  see  and  enjoy  in  May  are 
bewilderingly  numerous.  One  of  my  May  favor- 
ites is  the  Baltimore  oriole.  To  my  mind  he  is 
one  of  the  few  birds  possessed  of  all  the  known  bird 
accomplishments.  He  has  brilliant  plumage,  a 
beautiful  song,  and  is  a  master  in  the  art  of  nest 
building.  When  I  hear  his  first  golden  whistle  in 
the  spring,  when  the  tulips  are  in  full  bloom,  I  am 
reminded  of  Fawcett's  beautiful  lines : 

"How  falls  it,  oriole,  thou  hast  come  to  fly 
In  tropic  splendor  through  our  Northern  sky? 

At  some  glad  moment  was  its  nature's  choice 
To  dower  a  scrap  of  sunset  with  a  voice? 

Or  did  some  orange  tulip,  flaked  with  black, 
In  some  forgotten  garden,  ages  back, 

Yearning  toward  Heaven  until  its  wish  was  heard, 
Desire  unspeakably  to  be  a  bird?" 

My  young  son,  anxious  to  supply  the  robins 
who  had  nested  on  our  window  ledge,  with  what 
he  thought  was  suitable  material  for  their  nest, 
carried  some  fine  threads  of  flax  into  the  yard  and 


The  Birds  and  Poets  59 

laid  them  in  the  grass  where  he  hoped  the  robins 
would  find  them,  although  the  robin's  nest  had 
long  been  finished,  and  was  built  of  much  coarser 
material,  but  a  pair  of  orioles  espied  it  and  eagerly 
appropriated  it  for  the  delicately  woven,  pensile 
nest  which  I,  by  this  means,  discovered  they  were 
building  in  a  neighboring  elm. 

When  I  hear  the  first  oriole  sing  in  the  spring,  I 
feel  an  impulse  to  run  out  into  the  sunshine  and 
stretch  my  hands  out  to  him  in  glad  welcome. 
The  golden  buoyancy  of  his  song  is  an  invitation 
out  doors  and  is  as  brilliant  as  his  beautiful  coat. 
He  seems  to  say : 

"Come  out  beneath  the  unmastered  sky, 

With  its  emancipating  spaces, 
And  learn  to  sing  as  well  as  I, 

Without  premeditated  graces." 

His  song  and  his  nest  recall  Lowell's  beautiful 
lines : 

«*    *    *    from  the  honeysuckle  gray 

The  oriole  with  experienced  quest 
Twitches  the  fibrous  bark  away, 

The  cordage  of  his  hammock-nest, 
Cheering  his  labor  with  a  note 
Rich  as  the  orange  of  his  throat. 

High  o'er  the  loud  and  dusty  road 

The  soft  gray  cup  in  safety  swings, 

To  brim  ere  August  with  its  load 

Of  downy  breasts  and  throbbing  wings, 


60  Twelve  Months  With 

O'er  which  the  friendly  elm-tree  heaves 
An  emerald  roof  with  sculptured  eaves. 

Below,  the  noisy  World  drags  by 
In  the  old  way,  because  it  must, 

The  bride  with  heartbreak  in  her  eye, 
The  mourner  following  hated  dust : 

Thy  duty,  winged  flame  of  Spring, 

Is  but  to  love,  and  fly,  and  sing." 

Another  favorite  May  bird,  quaint  and  Quaker- 
like  in  character,  which  I  have  loved  since  my  boy- 
hood days  when  every  country  bridge  offered  a 
shelter  for  his  nest,  is  the  phoebe,  of  which,  also, 
Lowell  sings : 

"Ere  pales  in  Heaven  the  morning  star, 

A  bird,  the  loneliest  of  its  kind, 
Hears  Dawn's  faint  footfall  from  afar 

While  all  its  mates  are  dumb  and  blind. 

It  is  a  wee  sad-colored  thing, 

As  shy  and  secret  as  a  maid, 

That,  ere  in  choir  the  robins  sing, 

Pipes  its  own  name  like  one  afraid. 

It  seems  pain-prompted  to  repeat 
The  story  of  some  ancient  ill, 

But  Phoebe!  Phoebe!  sadly  sweet 
Is  all  it  says,  and  then  is  still." 

The  phoebe  is  homey,  domestic  and  trustful, 
and  his  quiet  ways  win  the  affections  of  us  all.  His 


The  Birds  and  Poets  61 

rather  insignificant  song  "pewit  phoebe/' — "pewit 
phoebe," — is  as  humble  as  the  bird  himself. 

Indeed,  Witter  Bynner,  with  characteristic 
naivete,  finds  his  very  silence  golden : 

"Under  the  eaves,  out  of  the  wet, 
You  nest  within  my  reach; 
You  never  sing  for  me  and  yet 
You  have  a  golden  speech. 

You  sit  and  quirk  a  rapid  tail, 

Wrinkle  a  ragged  crest, 
Then  pirouet  from  tree  to  rail 

And  vault  from  rail  to  nest. 

And  when  in  frequent,  witty  fright 

You  grayly  slip  and  fade, 
And  when  at  hand  you  re-alight 

Demure  and  unafraid, 

And  when  you  bring  your  brood  its  fill 

Of  iridescent  wings 
And  green  legs  dewy  in  your  bill, 

Your  silence  is  what  sings. 

Not  of  a  feather  that  enjoys 

To  prate  or  praise  or  preach, 

O  Phoebe,  with  your  lack  of  noise, 
What  eloquence  you  teach!" 

We  are  glad  to  have  him  return  every  year,  as 
he  frequently  does,  to  the  same  bridge,  barn  or 
porch,  and  build  his  nest  of  moss  and  mud.  The 


62  Twelve  Months  With 

phoebes  seem  less  numerous  of  late  years,  perhaps 
because  .the  old  fashioned  wooden  bridges  have 
been  replaced  by  steel  and  concrete,  and  they  are 
not  so  often  seen  near  houses  and  barns,  except  in 
the  country  districts.  They  arrive  in  April,  and 
usually  begin  nesting  about  the  first  of  May. 
Their  nests  are  frequently  infected  with  vermin  of 
various  sorts,  which  sometimes  kill  the  young 
birds,  and  this  may  account  for  their  building  a 
new  nest  when  rearing  a  second  family.  They  are 
not  noted  for  meticulous  housekeeping. 

In  addition  to  the  phoebe,  which  is  perhaps  the 
most  common  of  our  flycatchers,  we  have  the 
wood  pewee,  the  Acadian,  Traill's  and  least  fly- 
catchers, all  of  which  are  demure,  drab-colored 
birds  with  quiet,  plaintive  notes.  The  wood  pewee 
also  "pipes  its  own  name"  even  more  distinctly 
than  the  phoebe,  a  mournful,  delicate  whistled 
"pee-a-wee"  which  may  be  heard  at  all  hours 
almost  any  day  in  the  shady  woods  in  May,  or 
indeed  all  through  the  summer,  when  other  birds 
are  silent.  Trowbridge  has  honored  him  with 
these  verses : 

"For  so  I  found  my  forest  bird, — 

The  pewee  of  the  loneliest  woods, 
Sole  singer  of  these  solitudes, 
Which  never  robin's  whistle  stirred, 

Where  never  blue  bird's  plume  intrudes. 
Quick  darting  through  the  dewy  morn, 
The  redstart  trilled  his  twittering  horn, 
And  vanished  in  thick  boughs:  at  even, 


The  Birds  and  Poets  63 

Like  liquid  pearls  fresh  showered  from  heaven, 
The  high  notes  of  the  lone  wood-thrush 
Fall  on  the  forest's  holy  hush: 

But  thou  all  day  complainest  here, — 
'Pe-wee !  Pe-wee !  peer !' ' 

Next  to  the  humming  bird,  this  little  flycatcher 
builds  the  most  exquisite  little  nest  of  all  the  feath- 
ered kingdom.  It  is  always  flattened  out  on  a  single 
horizontal  limb,  is  only  about  an  inch  in  height, 
lined  with  the  finest  root  fibre,  and  covered  with 
crustaceous  lichens  held  together  with  cobwebs 
and  caterpillar's  silk  with  such  skill  and  art  that  it 
is  almost  impossible  to  distinguish  it  from  a  moss- 
covered  knot,  natureVown  handiwork. 

The  soft,  pensive,  plaintive  note  of  this  little 
bird,  in  the  midday  heat  of  a  summer  day  in  the 
woods,  when  all  other  birds  are  silent,  has  a  peace- 
ful, quieting  influence,  like  the  cooling  shades  of 
the  forest  where  alone  the  song  may  be  heard. 

When  feeding  it  sits  on  a  dead  or  projecting 
branch  of  a  tree  from  which  it  darts  at  intervals  in 
graceful  undulations  among  the  shadows  of  the 
wood,  catching  its  insect  prey,  and  returning  to  its 
perch,  where  it  repeats  its  feeble  song,  usually 
accompanied  by  a  quivering  of  the  wings,  and  a 
downward  tilt  of  the  tail. 

The  Acadian  flycatcher  is  also  quite  common  in 
this  latitude,  more  common  than  the  Traill's  or  the 
least  flycatcher.  Of  course  the  most  distinguish- 
ing trait  of  the  flycatchers,  and  the  first  aid  to 


64  Twelve  Months  With 

identification,  is  the  characteristic  habit  of  darting 
from  the  limb  of  tree  or  bush  into  the  air  and  snap- 
ping at  insects  and  then  fluttering  back  to  the  perch 
to  watch  for  the  next  quarry.  Most  other  insect- 
eating  birds  gather  the  insects  from  the  surface  of 
trees  or  leaves.  The  Traill's  is  about  six  inches  in 
length,  the  Acadian  somewhat  smaller,  and  the 
least  flycatcher,  the  smallest  of  them  all,  is  little 
more  than  five  and  a  half  inches  in  length.  All 
three  have  olive-green  and  fuscous  or  brownish 
backs,  and  are  somewhat  difficult  to  distinguish, 
but  the  least  flycatcher  may  usually  be  identified 
by  its  smaller  size  and  its  horn-colored  lower  man- 
dible, which  in  the  other  two  species  named  is 
white  or  flesh  colored.  The  Acadian  is  perhaps 
the  most  often  seen  in  the  Mississippi  Valley. 

My  first  experience  with  the  Traill's  flycatcher 
was  an  interesting  one,  and  may  aid  other  bird 
students  in  distinguishing  this  little  flycatcher 
from  some  of  its  similarly  marked  congeners.  One 
late  afternoon  in  May  I  was  attracted  by  a  small 
bird,  darting  up  from  a  low  bush  in  pursuit  of 
insects,  and  although  there  were  other  shrubs  near, 
I  noticed  that  he  always  suddenly  darted  back 
after  capturing  his  meal  to  the  very  twig  from 
which  he  had  flown.  On  several  occasions  he 
darted  out  in  a  horizontal  direction  from  his 
perch,  snapped  up  the  insect,  and  then  although 
there  was  an  equally  desirable  perch  directly 
beneath  him,  he  would  precipitately  dart  back  to 
the  identical  bush  from  which  he  had  flown,  all 


The  Birds  and  Poets  65 

of  which  was  done  so  suddenly  that  the  little  bird 
appeared  to  be  tied  to  a  rubber  band  which  vio- 
lently jerked  him  back  to  his  perch.  Sometimes 
he  would  fly  straight  up  into  the  air  three  or  four 
feet  above  the  shrub,  and  then  tumble  over  and 
dart  down  again,  as  if  he  had  been  shot  in  his 
flight.  I  remember  one  of  his  side-flights  was  so 
quick  and  sudden,  I  thought  he  had  left  the  bush 
and  flown  away,  and  my  eyes  followed  the  direc- 
tion of  his  flight  for  some  distance,  until  I  suddenly 
lost  him.  Glancing  back  at  his  old  perch,  I  was 
surprised  to  find  him  there  cooly  waiting  for 
another  dainty  winged  morsel  to  appear. 

I  was  not  then  familiar  with  this  peculiarity  of 
the  bird,  nor  with  the  bird  itself,  but  I  felt  con- 
fident that  this  marked  characteristic  would  be 
mentioned  by  some  authority  as  a  distinguishing 
trait.  I  hurried  to  consult  a  number  of  the  modern 
authorities,  and  to  my  surprise  found  that  none  of 
them  mentioned  this  as  the  peculiar  habit  of  any 
of  the  flycatchers.  At  last  I  referred  to  the 
authority  of  all  authorities, — Audubon,  and  there 
I  found  it  at  once :  "returning  with  marked  sudden- 
ness to  the  same  place  to  alight."  Audubon,  one 
finds,  settles  many  things  that  all  the  rest  know  not 
of.  He  spent  all  of  his  long  life  in  the  woods  and 
fields  observing  the  birds,  and  his  record  of  his  ob- 
servations is  marvelously  free  from  mistakes,  and 
wonderfully  full  of  just  what  one  wants  to  know 
about  birds.  His  wisdom  is  born  of  his  own  expe- 
riences, and  is  not  mere  knowledge  gathered  from 


66  Twelve  Months  With 

books  written  by  others.  The  habit  of  returning  to 
the  same  perch  is  common  to  a  number  of  the  fly- 
catchers, but  the  helter-skelter  haste  of  the  Traill's 
in  doing  so  is  unique. 

Therefore  should  you  ever  observe  a  little  fly- 
catcher busily  engaged  in  darting  after  insects 
among  low  trees  or  shrubs,  and  invariably  return- 
ing with  sudden  precipitation  to  the  same  perch, 
you  may  be  quite  certain  it  is  Traill's. 

The  kingbird,  the  most  common  of  all  of  our 
flycatchers,  and  much  larger  than  those  we  have 
been  considering  usually  returns  to  the  spot  from 
which  he  started  in  pursuit  of  an  insect,  but  not  so 
precipitately,  and  he  cannot,  of  course,  be  confused 
with  the  Traill's  flycatcher.  The  scientific  name 
of  the  kingbird  is  tyrant  flycatcher,  but  while  he 
vigorously  assails  anyone  who  approaches  his  nest, 
as  any  bird  of  courage  and  spirit  will  do,  I  think 
this  name  is  a  base  slander,  because  the  crow  is  the 
only  bird  against  whom  he  seems  to  have  a  grudge, 
and  for  this  special  antipathy  he  doubtless  has  a 
very  sufficient  reason. 

I  recall  one  time  finding  a  nest  of  this  bird  in  a 
tree  overhanging  a  small  stream  in  Northern 
Indiana.  While  rowing  in  the  stream,  I  passed 
directly  under  the  nest,  which  I  could  easily  reach 
by  standing  up  in  the  boat.  I  stopped  the  boat  by 
clinging  to  the  overhanging  branches,  and  rising 
looked  directly  down  upon  the  mother  bird  sitting 
on  the  nest,  from  which  she  refused  to  move  until 
I  actually  touched  her  back.  She  then  merely 


The  Birds  and  Poets  67 

hopped  over  to  an  adjacent  limb,  and  scolded 
me,  with  wings  half  spread  and  eyes  glistening. 
The  male  meanwhile  kept  violently  darting  down 
to  within  an  inch  of  my  head,  and  making  more 
fuss  than  his  mate.  The  courage  and  spirit  of  the 
two  birds  was  an  inspiring  sight.  I  took  some  pic- 
tures of  the  nest  with  the  mother  bird  half  repos- 
ing upon  it,  with  her  wings  partially  spread  as  if 
ready  to  battle  for  her  young  if  need  be.  I  never 
got  a  camera  closer  to  a  mother  bird  on  the  nest 
than  on  this  occasion.  I  was  actually  compelled 
to  back  away  some  distance,  to  get  the  proper  focus 
for  the  picture. 

While  the  kingbird  is  thus  aggressive  and  full 
of  spirit,  I  have  never  known  him  to  be  tyrannical, 
in  any  proper  sense,  or  even  quarrelsome. 

The  great-crested  flycatcher  is  a  rare  summer 
resident.  I  have  seen  this  largest  and  finest  of  our 
flycatchers  in  the  deep  woods  along  our  rivers  and 
on  the  sand  dunes  at  the  south  end  of  Lake  Mich- 
igan. About  May  29,  this  year  (1916)  I  saw  a 
number  of  them  noisily  flying  about  in  old  dead 
tree  tops  as  if  they  were  mating.  Their  calls  are 
loud  and  clear,  and  some  of  their  notes  resemble 
the  whistle  of  the  cardinal,  and  others  sound  very 
much  like  the  trilling  tree-toad  notes  of  the  red- 
headed woodpecker.  But  they  are  just  enough 
unlike  either  to  attract  attention  and  arouse  one's 
curiosity,  and  of  course  when  the  bird,  (which  is 
larger  than  the  cardinal,  and  something  of  the 
same  shape)  is  once  seen,  with  its  crest,  and  plain 


68  Twelve  Months  With 

grayish-brown  coat,  and  sulphur-yellow  belly,  he 
is  easily  identified.  He  always  uses  snakeskins  in 
his  nest,  which  he  builds  in  a  hole  in  a  dead  tree, 
and  he  usually  leaves  a  piece  of  it  hanging  out  of 
the  hole  for  the  purpose,  as  claimed  by  some 
authorities,  of  frightening  away  his  enemies. 

The  yellow-billed  cuckoo  is  a  common  summer 
resident  arriving  early  in  May.  It  is  a  long,  thin> 
dove-like  bird,  brownish  gray  in  color,  with  a 
slight  greenish  gloss,  the  long  tail  conspicuously 
dotted  with  round  white  spots.  He  slips  noise- 
lessly into  a  tree,  and  disappears  in  its  leafy  depths 
in  an  almost  ghostly  manner,  and  if  you  are  able  to 
spy  him  out  you  will  find  him  sitting  absolutely 
motionless,  apparently  in  a  sort  of  trance,  from 
which  he  awakes  to  hop  stealthily  about  in  search 
of  caterpillars.  His  song  is  strikingly  character- 
istic, and  suited  to  his  spirit-like  movements,  a 
monotonous  and  unmusical  "k6<w,  kow,  kow/'  or 
"ko  kuk,  koo,  koo,  koo,  kuk,"  which  sounds  a 
good  deal  like  two  wooden  balls  being  struck  to- 
gether. Although  the  European  Cuckoo's  song 
differs  somewhat  from  ours,  Wordsworth's  poem 
"To  the  Cuckoo"  is  a  beautiful  and  apt  descrip- 
tion: 

"O  blithe  New-comer !  I  have  heard, 
I  hear  thee  and  rejoice. 
O  cuckoo !  shall  I  call  thee  Bird, 
Or  but  a  wandering  Voice? 


The  Birds  and  Poets  69 

Thrice  welcome,  darling  of  the  Spring! 

Even  yet  thou  art  to  me 

No  bird,  but  an  invisible  thing, 

A  voice,  a  mystery; 

The  same  whom  in  my  school-boy  days 
I  listened  to;  that  Cry 
Which  made  me  look  a  thousand  ways 
In  bush,  and  tree,  and  sky. 

To  seek  thee  did  I  often  rove 
Through  woods  and  on  the  green; 
And  thou  wert  still  a  hope,  a  love ; 
Still  longed  for,  never  seen. 

O  blessed  Bird !  the  earth  we  pace 
Again  appears  to  be 
An  unsubstantial,  fa'ery  place, 
That  is  fit  home  for  Thee!" 

The  notes  of  the  cuckoo  are  sometimes  soft  and 
ventriloquous  in  quality  and  one  is  likely  to  be 
misled  into  thinking  that  the  bird  is  far  away, 
when  he  is  hidden  in  the  foliage  close  at  hand. 
Maud  Keary  expressed  the  same  thought  as  to  his 
retiring,  spirit-like  character: 

"Primroses  and  cowslips, 
Bluebells  and  sweet  may, 
And  a  cuckoo  calling 
Far,  far  away. 

Forget-me-nots  and  cresses, 
In  the  streamlet  blue, 
Fly  a  little  nearer, 
O  cuckoo,  do !" 


JO  Twelve  Months  With 

Our  cuckoos  are  not  often  heard  "kooing"  how- 
ever, except  in  certain  localities  where  they  are 
very  plentiful.  One  is  more  likely,  if  he  sees  the 
bird  at  all,  to  run  into  him  by  accident,  as  he  slips 
quietly  about  the  deep  shadows  of  the  trees.  He  is 
quite  as  active  by  night  as  at  any  other  time,  which 
may  account  for  his  stealthy,  almost  bat-like  move- 
ments by  day. 

It  is  said  that  the  cuckoo  sometimes  deposits  its 
eggs  in  the  nests  of  other  birds,  after  the  fashion  of 
the  cowbird,  although  I  have  never  seen  an 
instance  of  it.  When  it  does  build  a  nest  of  its 
own,  it  is  a  poor  excuse — a  few  loose  sticks  which 
scarcely  serve  either  to  conceal  the  eggs  or  hold 
the  young  when  hatched.  A  pair  of  these  birds 
once  built  a  frail  nest  of  this  character  on  a  hori- 
zontal limb  of  a  maple  tree  in  my  front  yard, 
through  which  one  could  easily  see  the  blue  sky. 

The  black-billed  cuckoo  is  also  quite  common, 
though  not  so  frequently  seen  as  his  yellow-billed 
cousin.  The  birds  are  very  similar  in  appearance, 
the  only  conspicuous  distinguishing  mark  being 
the  color  of  the  bill. 

May  always  brings  an  army  of  silver  tongued 
thrushes,  and  myriads  of  tiny  tree-haunting  war- 
blers. The  wood  thrush  is  the  finest  songster  of  the 
thrushes  that  spend  the  summer  with  us.  Izaak 
Walton's  tribute  to  the  nightingale  is  none  too  fine 
for  the  wood  thrush : 


The  Birds  and  Poets  71 

"Lord,  what  music  hast  thou  provided  for 
the  saints  in  Heaven,  when  thou  affordest 
bad  men  such  music  on  earth?" 

John  Vance  Cheney's  "Wood  Thrush"  is  a 
classic  among  nature  poems: 

"When  lilies  by  the  river  fill  with  sun, 
And  banks  with  clematis  are  overrun; 
When  winds  are  weighed  with  fern-sweet  from  the 

hill, 

And  hawks  wheel  in  the  noontide  hot  and  still; 
When  thistle  tops  are  silvered,  every  one, 
And  fly-lamps  flicker  e'er  the  day  is  done, — 
Nature  bethinks  her  how  to  crown  these  things. 
At  twilight  she  decides:  the  wood-thrush  sings." 

He  is  a  common  summer  resident,  and  may  be 
easily  distinguished  by  his  uniformly  brown  back 
and  tail,  and  large  round  black  spots  all  over  the 
breast. 

The  hermit  thrush  is  a  common  migrant,  but 
unfortunately  he  never  sings  on  his  journey  to  the 
north.  He  apparently  saves  his  song  for  his  mate 
at  the  time  of  the  home  building,  in  the  twilight 
northern  woods. 

As  Lowell  says : 

"Through  the  dim  arbor,  himself  more  dim, 
Silently  hops  the  hermit  thrush." 

Some  day  I  am  going  to  take  a  train  for  the 
north  woods  where  he  nests,  just  for  the  pleasure 


72  Twelve  Months  With 

of  hearing  him  sing,  and  then  return  home  again 
happy.  As  a  songster,  he  certainly  has  no  super- 
iors, and  very  few  equals.  John  Burroughs  says 
of  his  song:  "It  suggests  a  serene,  religious  beati- 
tude, and  expresses  a  deep  and  solemn  joy  which 
only  the  finest  souls  may  know." 
And  Cheney: 

"Holy,  Holy!  In  the  hush 
Hearken  to  the  hermit  thrush; 
All  the  air 
Is  in  prayer." 

Nellie  Hart  Woodworth,  in  a  similar  spirit, 
calls  it  the  "Angelus" : 

"Who  rings  New  England's  Angelus? 

A  little  bird  so  plainly  dressed 
With  robe  of  brown  and  spotted  vest 
He  rings  New  England's  Angelus." 

While  this  rare  spirit  bird  never  favors  us  with 
his  wonderful  song,  he  may  often  be  seen  late  in 
April  and  early  in  May,  and  his  distinguishing 
mark  is  his  tail,  which  is  conspicuously  more  red- 
dish brown  than  his  back. 

Of  the  myriads  of  warblers  passing  through  in 
April  and  May  to  their  nesting  haunts,  most  of 
them  sing  brief,  warbling,  insect-like  notes,  easily 
heard  by  an  alert  bird-loving  ear,  but  as  easily 
missed  by  others. 

Among  the  warblers  which  may  be  seen  in  this 


The  Birds  and  Poets  73 

area  may  be  mentioned  the  yellow,  the  black  and 
white,  the  black-throated  blue,  the  black-throated 
green,  the  magnolia,  the  myrtle,  the  bay-breasted, 
the  Blackburnian,  the  palm,  the  Tennessee,  the 
chestnut-sided,  the  cerulean,  the  blackpoll,  the 
Cape  May,  the  Wilson's,  the  Connecticut,  the  Can- 
adian, water  thrushes,  redstarts,  Maryland  yellow- 
throats,  etc.  If  these  little  feathered  guests  are 
carefully  looked  for  between  April  fifteenth  and 
June  first,  they  may  all  be  seen  and  identified  with- 
out much  difficulty.  Many  of  these  varieties  may 
be  seen  in  large  numbers  for  the  few  days  they  are 
with  us,  and  most  of  them  prefer  woodland,  brushy 
pools,  where  they  feed  upon  the  tiny  insects  that 
hover  about  the  surface  of  the  water. 

Upon  their  return  in  September,  they  are  not  so 
easily  seen,  because  of  the  heavy  foliage.  Others, 
like  the  prothonotary,  blue-winged,  golden- 
winged,  mourning  and  pine  warblers  may  be  seen 
occasionally,  but  a  sight  of  them  is  so  rare  an 
occurrence  that  it  may  be  considered  an  ornitho- 
logical treat  seldom  to  be  enjoyed. 

A  few  of  the  warblers  remain  with  us  during 
the  summer  as  permanent  residents,  including  the 
yellow  warbler,  Maryland  yellow-throat,  yellow- 
breasted  chat  and  the  American  redstart. 

The  Maryland  yellow-throat  is  a  friendly  little 
warbler,  with  bright  yellow  breast  and  head,  and 
a  conspicuous  black  spot  on  the  side  of  the  head, 
running  back  from  the  base  of  the  bill.  He  is 
usually  quite  tame,  and  will  often  comport  himself 


74  With  the  Birds  and  Poets 

with  playful  unconcern  almost  within  reach  of 
one's  hand,  upon  the  low  branches  where  he  loves 
to  feed.  I  once  approached  within  ten  feet  of 
one  perched  upon  an  old  dead  weed  stalk,  and 
watched  him  twitch  about  in  his  usual  active  quest 
for  insects.  While  perched  on  the  stalk,  he  "about 
faced"  in  exact  soldier  fashion  on  his  perch,  with- 
out moving  a  fraction  of  an  inch  to  the  right  or  to 
the  left,  and  so  quickly  that  I  almost  missed  it  by 
winking. 

This  little  warbler  nests  with  us,  and  may  be 
seen  in  its  favorite  haunts  until  early  in  September. 

When  May  has  gone,  with  its  host  of  warblers, 
thrushes  and  other  beautiful  feathered  visitors,  its 
sweet  influence  falls  upon  the  spirit  like  a  peaceful 
benediction,  and  I  think  of  Browning's  exultation 
over  the  beauties  of  May: 

"Gone  are  they,  but  I  have  them  in  my  soul." 


JUNE. 

Far  back  in  earth's  gray  dawn, 

Before  God's  words 
Had  crystallized  in  suns, 

Or  stars  had  heard 

That  clear  creative  call, 

"Let  there  be  light 
On  all  my  works  below, 
For  day  and  night" — 

When  first  earth's  wrinkled  face 

Saw  the  white  moon 
Gleam  on  unfinished  work, 

There  was  no  June, — 

But  as  the  thoughts  of  God 

Showed  perfect  spheres, 
We  think  He  called  up  June 

To  gem  the  years ! 

— Irene  Elder  Morton. 

UR  June  is  the  month  of  the  great- 
est summer  beauty,  the  month 
when  the  trees  are  dressed  in  their 
brightest  and  freshest  garments, 
and  the  flowers  are  the  richest  in 
hue  and  profusion.  It  is  the  month 
of  birds  of  brilliant  plumage,  such  as  the  scarlet 
tanager,  goldfinch,  rosebreasted  grosbeak,  indigo 
bunting,  etc.  The  warmth  of  June's  bright  days 
seems  to  bring  out  the  ripe,  mature  colors  of 


76  Twelve  Months  With 

tree  and  flower  and  bird.  Never  a  poet  so  humble 
that  he  has  not  sung  the  beauties  and  glories  of 
June.  It  has  been  a  favorite  theme  of  poets  from 
Spencer  to  the  modern  imagists.  Spencer,  after 
extolling  the  beauties  of  May,  sings: 

"After  her  came  jolly  June,  arrayed 
all  in  green  leaves." 

Coleridge  calls  it  "the  leafy  month  of  June." 
Leigh  Hunt  compares  the  beauties  of  May  with 

those  of  June,  rather  to  the  advantage  of  the  latter 

month : 

"May's  a  word  'tis  sweet  to  hear, 
Laughter  of  the  budding  year; 
Sweet  it  is  to  start  and  say 
On  May  morning,  'This  is  May !' 
But  there  also  breathes  a  tune, 
Hear  it, — in  the  sound  of  'June.' 
June's  a  month,  and  June's  a  name, 
Never  yet  hath  had  its  fame, 
Summer's  in  the  sound  of  June, 
Summer  and  a  deepened  tune 
Of  the  bees  and  of  the  birds, 
And  of  loitering  lovers'  words, 
And  the  brooks  that,  as  they  go, 
Seem  to  think  aloud,  yet  low; 


O  come  quickly,  show  thee  soon, 
Come  at  once  with  all  thy  noon, 
Manly,  joyous,  gypsy  June." 


The  Birds  and  Poets  77 

The  bees  and  the  clover  and  the  surge  of  summer 
are  often  referred  to  in  the  poems  celebrating  the 
month, — for  example,  Mrs.  Whitney's  lines: 

"Now  it  is  June,  and  the  secret  is  told; 
Flashed  from  the  buttercup's  glory  of  gold, 
Hung  in  the  bumblebee's  gladness,  and  sung 
New  from  each  bough  where  a  bird's  nest  is  swung; 
Breathed  from  the  clover  beds  when  the  winds  pass; 
Chirped  in   small  psalms   through  the   isles  of  the 
grass." 

After  May,  Emerson  says : 

"Then  flows  amain 

The  surge  of  summer's  beauty;  dell  and  crag, 
Hollow  and  lake,  hill-side  and  pine  arcade, 
Are  touched  with  genius." 

And  William  Vaughn  Moody  in  his  "Glouces- 
ter Moors"  has  left  us  this  exquisite  description  of 
the  beauties  of  which  June  is  so  prodigal: 

"Jill-o'er-the-ground  is  purple  blue, 
Blue  is  the  quaker-maid, 
The  wild  geranium  holds  its  dew 
Long  in  the  boulder's  shade. 
Wax-red  hangs  the  cup 
From  the  huckleberry  boughs, 
In  barberry  bells  the  grey  moths  sup 
Or  where  the  choke-cherry  lifts  high  up 
Sweet  bowls  for  their  carouse. 

Over  the  shelf  of  the  sandy  cove 
Beach-peas  blossom  late. 


78  Twelve  Months  With 

By  copse  and  cliff  the  swallows  rove 

Each  calling  to  his  mate. 

Seaward  the  sea-gulls  go, 

And  the  land-birds  all  are  here; 

That  green-gold  flash  was  a  vireo, 

And  yonder  flame  where  the  marsh-flags  grow 

Was  a  scarlet  tanager." 

Another  modern  poet,  Angela  Morgan,  expresses 
the  rapture  she  feels  for  the  beauties  of  a  June 
Day: 

"Green !  what  a  world  of  green ! 
My  startled  soul 
Panting  for  beauty  long  desired, 
Leaps  in  a  passion  of  high  gratitude 
To  meet  the  wild  embraces  of  the  wood; 
Rushes  and  flings  itself  upon  the  whole 
Mad  miracle  of  green,  with  senses  wide, 
Clings  to  the  glory,  hugs  and  holds  it  fast, 
As  one  who  finds  a  long-lost  love  at  last. 
Billows  of  green  that  burst  upon  the  sight 
In  bounteous  crescendos  of  delight, 
Wind-hurried  verdure  hastening  up  the  hills 
To  where  the  sun  its  highest  rapture  spills; 
Cascades  of  color  tumbling  down  the  height 
In  golden  gushes  of  delicious  light — 
God!  Can  I  bear  the  beauty  of  this  day, 
Or  shall  I  be  swept  utterly  away? 


Smite  me,  O  Life,  and  bruise  me  if  thou  must; 
Mock  me  and  starve  me  with  thy  bitter  crust, 


The  Birds  and  Poets  79 

But  keep  me  thus  aquiver  and  awake, 
Enamoured  of  my  life,  for  living's  sake ! 
This  were  the  tragedy — that  I  should  pass, 
Dull  and  indifferent  through  the  flowing  grass. 
And  this  the  reason  I  was  born,  I  say — 
That  I  might  know  the  passion  of  this  day  I" 

And  Riley  adds: 

"Month  a  man  kin  railly  love, — 
June,  you  knowj  I'm  talkin'  of." 

i 

Longfellow  has  given  us  a  fine  prose  description : 

"That  delicious  season  when  the  coy  and  capricious 
maidenhood  of  spring  is  swelling  into  the  warmer, 
riper  and  more  voluptuous  womanhood  of  summer.'* 

All  Nature  seems  to  have  a  glad  part  in  the 
preparations  of  the  birds  for  their  summer  nesting. 
Through  the  sun  and  showers  of  April  and  May, 
when  the  birds  are  coming  up  from  the  south  and 
noisily  and  joyously  mating,  in  anticipation  of  the 
domestic  life  which  for  them  is  to  be  Nature's  ful- 
fillment, the  flowers,  in  sweet  sympathy,  are  grow- 
ing into  the  greatest  beauty  and  profusion.  The 
trees,  shrubs  and  grass  in  the  same  spirit  are  slowly 
robing  themselves  in  the  full  vesture  of  summer, 
that  they  may  offer  themselves  as  suitable  hiding 
places  for  the  little  bird  families  that  are  to  be. 

At  last  when  June  comes,  Nature  seems  gently 
to  whisper  that  she  is  ready.  The  happy,  rompingr 


80  Twelve  Months  With 

noisy  days  of  love  making  and  courtship  are  ended, 
and  there  settles  down  upon  woods  and  fields  the 
peace  and  quiet  of  domestic  life. 

The  more  serious  business  of  rearing  the  family 
is  at  hand.  No  longer  is  every  bush  and  tree  vocal 
with  the  music  of  birds,  and  if  one  would  see  them 
he  must  now  search  them  out  in  their  favorite  nest- 
ing haunts,  where  he  will  find  them  often  too  busy 
with  household  cares  to  give  him  much  attention. 

June  is  the  great  household  month  for  the  birds. 
More  nests  may  be  found  during  this  month  than 
in  any  other.  To  find  the  birds  at  this  season  one 
must  adopt  the  tactics  of  the  fisherman.  He  must 
go  where  they  are.  They  will  no  longer  come  to 
him  at  every  turn  in  his  morning's  walk,  but  he 
must  find  their  meadow  or  woodland  homes  and 
visit  them  there. 

If  the  habits  of  the  birds  as  to  nesting  are  known 
it  is  not  difficult  to  find  them  and  with  them  their 
nests.  At  this  season  if  a  bird  is  seen  regularly  to 
frequent  certain  bushes,  trees  or  grass  spots,  of  a 
kind  or  in  a  location  which  it  usually  chooses  for 
its  nest,  a  little  patient,  quiet  observation  will 
reveal  the  bird's  secret,  especially  when  the  nest 
is  being  built  or  the  young  are  being  fed,  for  the 
birds  then  make  frequent  trips  to  and  from  the 
nest. 

Rain  fell  almost  constantly  night  and  day,  dur- 
ing the  first  week  of  June  this  year  (1916)  with  the 
result  that  all  the  rivers  and  streams  were  over 
their  banks  and  all  the  bottom  land  whether  of 


The  Birds  and  Poets  81 

marsh,  or  meadow  or  timber,  was  inundated,  and 
every  piece  of  low  ground  in  fields  or  woods  was 
transformed  into  a  pond.  It  was  a  terrible  tragedy 
for  thousands  of  birds  whose  homes  were  wiped 
out  by  the  floods.  The  meadows  and  fields  were 
filled  with  the  nests  of  various  sparrows,  of  bobo- 
links, meadowlarks,  dickcissels,  etc.,  and  the  low 
woodland  shrubs  held  many  nests  of  catbirds, 
thrushes  and  other  birds.  The  nests  of  hundreds 
of  shore  and  marsh  birds  such  as  sandpipers,  bit- 
terns, bank  swallows,  kingfishers,  rails,  etc.,  must 
have  been  swept  away.  Of  course  swollen  streams 
are  common  in  the  early  spring,  and  at  that  season 
little  damage  is  done  to  the  birds  because  few,  if 
any,  are  then  nesting,  but  when  such  a  flood  comes 
early  in  June,  at  the  time  when  the  nesting  season 
is  at  its  height,  the  ruin  which  follows  in  its  wake 
is  appalling. 

Imagine  the  little  complement  of  eggs  of  the 
spotted  sandpiper  laid  in  the  grass  along  the 
water's  edge,  and  the  water  rising  until  it  carries 
them  off  down  stream;  or  the  anxiety  and  conster- 
nation which  must  come  to  the  bank  swallow  or 
kingfisher  who  watches  the  tide  rising  steadily  but 
irresistibly  to  the  opening  in  the  river  bank  which 
leads  to  her  nest  of  eggs  or  young,  while  she  sits 
by  powerless  to  prevent  it;  or  what  must  be  the 
feelings  of  the  usually  jocund  and  hilarious  bobo- 
link who  has  joyously  built  his  snug  little  nest  close 
among  the  thick  grass  or  clover,  to  find  the  meadow 
transformed  into  a  pond,  in  which  he  cannot  even 


82  Twelve  Months  With 

discern  the  geography  of  the  field  which  he  had 
selected  as  a  fit  place  for  his  nest?  I  have  often 
seen  field  birds,  after  heavy  rains,  which  inundated 
the  low  places  in  the  meadows  fluttering  over  the 
water,  as  if  puzzling  their  little  brains  to  locate  the 
nest  which  was  covered  with  water,  or  sitting  dis- 
consolate on  a  bush  or  tuft  of  grass  near  by  appar- 
ently confused  and  dumb  with  grief  at  the 
inexplicable  tragedy  which  had  befallen  them. 

After  the  heavy  rains,  which  I  have  mentioned, 
had  abated  I  found  many  broken  eggs  and  dead 
young  birds  in  the  grass  and  on  the  sidewalks  under 
the  trees.  I  also  found,  ten  days  or  two  weeks 
later,  new  nests  which  were  evidently  built  to 
replace  those  destroyed,  because  they  were  later 
than  the  normal  nesting  dates  of  the  birds. 

Shortly  before  the  high  water  came  I  found  the 
nest  of  a  catbird  with  four  eggs  in  a  wild  goose- 
berry bush  in  a  small  grove  in  the  valley  of  the 
Desplaines  River.  When,  after  the  storm,  I  took 
my  young  son  to  see  the  nest,  we  found  ourselves 
unable  to  get  to  it  on  account  of  the  water  which 
entirely  surrounded  it.  Fortunately  the  nest  was 
high  enough  to  escape  the  flood  which  surged 
beneath,  and  if  the  mother  bird  kept  the  rain  and 
wind  from  destroying  the  nest,  the  little  family 
doubtless  prospered. 

The  catbird  is  a  really  fine  singer,  whose  song 
resembles  that  of  the  brown  thrasher,  to  whose 
family  (troglodytidae)  he  belongs.  But  as  he 
usually  lazily  contents  himself  with  his  cat-like 


The  Birds  and  Poets  83 


"mew"  from  which  he  derives  his  name,  reserving 
his  song  for  the  depths  of  the  thick  shrubs,  it  is  not 
very  often  heard,  considering  that  he  is  one  of  our 
most  common  birds.  He  can  offer  no  suitable 
apology  for  prostituting  his  fine  vocal  powers  to 
his  monotonous  "mew,  mew"  when  his  song  would 
make  proud  any  bird  so  fortunate  as  to  possess  it. 

"You,  who  would  with  wanton  art 
Counterfeit  another's  part 
And  with  noisy  utterance  claim 
Right  to  an  ignoble  name, — 
Inharmonious  I — why  must  you, 
To  a  better  self  untrue, 
Gifted  with  the  charm  of  song, 
Do  the  generous  gift  such  wrong? 

Oh !  you  much  mistake  your  duty, 
Mating  discord  thus  with  beauty, — 
'Mid  these  heavenly  sunset  gleams, 
Vexing  the  smooth  air  with  screams, — 
Burdening  the  dainty  breeze 
With  insane  discordancies. 

I  have  heard  you  tell  a  tale 
Tender  as  the  nightingale, 
Sweeter  than  the  early  thrush 
Pipes  at  day  dawn  from  the  bush, 
Wake  once  more  the  liquid  strain 
That  you  poured  like  music-rain, 
When,  last  night,  in  the  sweet  weather, 
You  and  I  were  out  together. 


84  Twelve  Months  With 

Unto  whom  two  notes  are  given, 
One  of  earth,  and  one  of  heaven, 
Were  it  not  a  shameful  tale 
That  the  earth  note  should  prevail?"* 

The  catbird  is  a  motherly,  generous  bird,  often 
playing  the  part  of  a  foster  parent,  feeding  and 
caring  for  the  young  birds  of  other  species  that 
have  been  deserted  or  are  neglected  by  their  right- 
ful parents.  Unlike  his  serene,  reposeful  cousins, 
the  thrushes,  he  has  a  restless,  active  tempera- 
ment, always  hopping  and  jerking  his  graceful 
body  about,  all  the  while  fluffing  his  feathers,  and 
indulging  himself  in  droll  pranks  and  sprightly 
performances. 

Mr.  William  Henry  Venable's  remarkable 
poem,  in  which  all  the  art  of  this  bird's  wonderful 
song,  as  well  as  his  characteristic  movements  are 
so  vividly  portrayed,  must  be  quoted  in  full : 

"Prime  cantante! 
Scherzo !  Andante  1 
Piano,  pianissimo! 
Presto,  prestissimo ! 

Hark!  are  there  nine  birds  or  ninety  and  nine? 
And  now  a  miraculous  gurgling  gushes 
Like  nectar  from  Hebe's  Olympian  bottle, 
The  laughter  of  tune  from  a  rapturous  throttle ! 
Such  melody  must  be  a  hermit-thrush's ! 
But  that  other  caroler,  nearer, 
Out  rivalling  rivalry  with  clearer 

*  Anon. 


The  Birds  and  Poets  85 

Sweetness  incredibly  fine  1 

Is  it  oriole,  red-bird  or  blue-bird, 

Or  some  strange  un-Auduboned  new  bird? 

All  one  sir,  both  this  bird  and  that  bird; 

The  whole  flight  are  all  the  same  catbird! 

The  whole  visible  and  invisible  choir  you  see 

On  one  lithe  twig  of  yon  green  tree. 

Flitting,  feathery  Blondel ! 

Listen  to  his  rondel! 

To  his  lay  romantical, 

To  his  sacred  canticle. 

Hear  him  lilting! 

See  him  tilting 

His  saucy  head  and  tail,  and  fluttering 

While  uttering 

All  the  difficult  operas  under  the  sun 

Just  for  fun ; 

Or  in  tipsy  revelry, 

Or  at  love  devilry, 

Or  disdaining  his  divine  gift  and  art, 

Like  an  inimitable  poet 

Who  captivates  the  world's  heart, 

And  don't  know  it. 

Hear  him  lilt ! 

See  him  tilt ! 

Then  suddenly  he  stops 

Peers  about,  flirts,  hops, 

As  if  looking  where  he  might  gather  up 

The  wasted  ecstacy  just  spilt 

From  the  quivering  cup 

Of  his  bliss  overrun. 

Then,  as  in  mockery  of  all 


86  Twelve  Months  With 

The  tuneful  spills  that  e'er  did  fall 
From  vocal  pipe  or  evermore  shall  rise, 
He, snarls,  and  mews,  and  flies." 

Despite  his  strange  preference  for  mewing, 
when  possessed  of  so  fine  a  song,  he  is  a  very 
friendly,  interesting  bird,  well  worth  cultivating 
and  cherishing  as  one  of  the  most  intelligent,  and 
delightful  of  our  common  summer  residents. 

I  took  a  June  walk  of  rather  unusual  interest 
along  the  banks  of  Bailey  Creek,  a  shallow  stream 
which  empties  into  the  Vermilion  River  near  its 
junction  with  the  Illinois,  and  my  adventures  on 
this  occasion  might  be  offered  as  an  example  of  the 
pleasures  which  await  the  bird  student  at  this  sea- 
son of  the  year,  if  he  will  but  seek  them.  In  dis- 
tance the  walk  did  not  exceed  a  mile, — but  when 
in  search  of  birds  or  their  nests,  one  should  saun- 
ter, and,  when  a  bird  is  seen,  stop  and  watch  it 
long  enough  to  observe  the  details  of  its  plumage 
and  its  habits.  Therefore  I  sauntered  this  mile 
up  Bailey  Creek,  taking  three  hours  for  the  trip, 
and  fifteen  minutes  for  the  walk  back.  Just 
before  the  creek  joins  the  Vermilion  River,  it 
plunges  over  a  precipitous  rocky  ledge,  to  a  fall  of 
some  thirty  or  forty  feet,  called  Bailey  Falls,  below 
which  the  water  tumbles  over  huge  boulders  into 
the  river.  My  walk  began  at  this  point.  I  saun- 
tered along  at  the  edge  of  the  water,  which  here 
was  very  shallow,  running  over  a  wide  bed  of  flat 
shale  rock.  Before  I  had  advanced  a  hundred  feet 


The  Birds  and  Poets  87 

I  observed  a  female  spotted  sandpiper  just  ahead 
tipping  and  teetering  up  and  down  in  vigorous 
fashion  in  the  shallow  water.  After  watching  her 
a  few  moments,  I  approached  quietly,  but  she 
refused  to  fly,  and  instead  uttered  two  or  three 
sharp  alarm  notes  —  "peet-<weet!  peet-<weet!" — 
whereupon  I  naturally  surmised  that  either  her 
nest  or  a  family  of  young  birds  was  near. 

Presently  I  discovered  running  about  over  the 
rocks,  three  young  birds  so  small  that  I  had  over- 
looked them;  then  their  mother,  uttering  two  or 
three  more  alarm  notes,  led  them  hastily  up  the 
rather  steep  bank  into  the  grass.  The  young  birds 
were  scarcely  larger  than  the  eggs  which  lately 
held  them,  and  were  covered  with  thin  gray  down. 
They  almost  constantly  bobbed  and  teetered  even 
more  vehemently  than  their  mother,  almost  pitch- 
ing themselves  over.  They  must  begin  their  tail 
tipping  by  teetering  themselves  out  of  the  eggs. 
They  certainly  know  all  about  it  the  moment  they 
are  born. 

At  this  time  the  father  sandpiper  having  doubt- 
less heard  the  mother  bird's  alarm  notes  from  afar 
came  sailing  down  the  creek,  with  a  companion 
bird  which  alighted  on  the  opposite  side  of  the 
stream,  while  the  head  of  the  little  family  dropped 
down  at  about  the  point  where  its  members  had 
lately  disappeared  into  the  grass.  Pausing  a 
moment,  to  look  at  me,  he  seemed  to  grasp  the 
situation,  and  uttering  an  alarmed  "peet-isoeet"  ran 
up  into  the  grass  and  joined  his  anxious  loved  ones. 


88  Twelve  Months  With 

Shortly  the  male  and  female  came  out  of  the  grass, 
leaving  the  little  ones  in  seclusion,  and  together 
ran  down  to  the  water's  edge,  apparently  quite 
oblivious  of  me.  They  ran  about  with  utter  uncon- 
cern, as  much  as  to  say  "there  is  nothing  of  interest 
to  any  one  here, — you  might  as  well  move  on,"  but 
very  soon  there  began  what  appeared  to  be  a  spir- 
ited argument  between  the  two  birds.  They  faced 
each  other,  and  raising  their  wings  straight  above 
their  heads  "peeped"  vigorously  at  each  other. 
The  father  bird  was  doubtless  being  scolded  for 
not  properly  looking  after  his  family,  and  protect- 
ing them  against  threatened  dangers.  But  sud- 
denly the  mother  bird's  anxiety  for  her  young 
overcame  her  nonchalant  strategy  for  me,  and  her 
anger  for  her  mate,  and  turning  from  him,  she 
looked  earnestly  toward  the  protecting  grass  for  an 
instant,  and  then  hurriedly  ran  into  it,  evidently 
concluding,  after  the  argument,  that  she  must  take 
care  of  the  little  ones  herself. 

The  spotted  sandpiper  is  the  one  commonly  seen 
along  the  shores  of  our  inland  streams,  and  is  eas- 
ily identified.  It  is  ashy  gray  on  the  back,  with 
under  parts  all  white,  thickly  covered  with  black 
spots.  Its  note  sounds  like  the  noise  made  by  a 
frightened  chick,  and  it  always  utters  this  note 
when  it  takes  flight  up  or  down  stream.  Its  flight 
is  an  alternating  flutter  and  soar,  somewhat  after 
the  fashion  of  the  meadowlark,  though  more  easy 
and  swallow-like. 


The  Birds  and  Poets  89 

Celia  Thaxter's  "One  Little  Sandpiper  and  I," 
known  to  us  all,  is  a  classic  among  bird  poems.* 

As  I  passed  on  up  the  creek,  the  current  became 
slower,  and  the  banks  higher,  and  I  kept  a  look- 
out for  bank  swallows'  nests,  for  I  had  already  seen 
a  number  of  these  birds  darting  about  over  the 
water  and  the  adjoining  meadows.  At  the  next 
turn  in  the  stream  I  saw  one  of  them  fly  into  a  hole 
in  the  bank,  about  three  feet  below  the  sod  cornice, 
and  about  six  feet  above  the  water.  I  walked  along 
the  bank,  and  as  I  stepped  on  the  spot  directly  over 
the  opening  of  the  nest,  the  female  bird  fluttered 
out  with  the  familiar  twitter  which  Bryant  called 
the  "gossip  of  the  swallows."  I  scrambled  down 
to  the  water's  edge,  and  peered  into  the  hole,  which 
was  just  two  and  one-quarter  inches  in  diameter 
at  the  opening.  Having  no  mirror  or  artificial 
light  of  any  sort,  I  could  not  see  the  nest  itself, 
though  some  stems  of  heavy  grass  protruded  to 
within  five  or  six  inches  of  the  opening,  and  the 
nest  appeared  to  be  only  about  four  inches  farther 
back.  If  so,  it  was  unusually  shallow,  as  the  holes 
are  frequently  two  or  three  feet  deep.  Rather  than 
disturb  the  nest,  or  the  approach  to  it,  I  adopted 
another  course  to  find  out  what  was  in  it.  Seating 
myself  on  a  stump  near  by,  which  commanded  a 
good  view  of  the  little  round  hole  in  the  bank  I 
waited  and  within  five  minutes  the  female  returned 
and  darted  around  the  opening,  making  several 
approaches  to  it  without  entering,  apparently 

*  Copyright  restrictions  prevent  its  quotation. 


90  Twelve  Months  With 

somewhat  alarmed  and  suspicious  because  of  the 
marks  I  had  left  in  the  dirt.  Finally  her  courage 
and  confidence  returning  she  quickly  darted 
straight  into  the  nest,  as  they  usually  do,  without 
alighting  at  the  opening  of  the  hole.  I  then  waited 
about  ten  minutes  to  see  if  she  would  come  out 
again,  but  she  did  not,  and  I  therefore  concluded, 
probably  correctly,  that  there  were  eggs  in  the  nest 
A  large  basswood  tree  had  fallen  into  the  stream 
at  this  point,  and  the  branches  extended  along  near 
the  nest.  I  have  noticed  that  frequently  the  nests 
of  this  little  bird  are  burrowed  out  adjacent  to 
fallen  trees  or  roots  in  the  bank,  which  they  use  as 
a  convenient  perch,  and  which  seem  to  determine, 
in  part  at  least,  the  location  of  the  nest. 

I  discovered  another  nest  a  little  farther  up  the 
stream,  on  the  opposite  side  in  a  similar  bank,  at 
about  the  same  height  above  the  water.  There  was 
a  small  overhanging  bush  near  by,  and  some  roots 
running  in  and  out  of  the  bank,  which  several  of 
the  birds  were  using  as  resting  places  between 
flights  up  and  down  the  stream.  One  male  bird  in 
the  group  seemed  bent  on  driving  the  father  bird 
away,  and  usurping  his  place  in  the  affections  of 
the  mother  bird.  The  two  male  birds  fought  des- 
perately, fluttering  up  through  the  air  with  bills 
together;  and  then,  tumbling  down  again  until 
they  nearly  touched  the  surface  of  the  water,  they 
darted  off  in  lively,  spirited  chase.  They  kept  up 
the  fight  for  several  minutes,  and  the  unobtrusive 
female,  the  apparent  cause  of  all  this  discord, 


The  Birds  and  Poets  91 

looked  on  with  utter  unconcern,  offering  no  aid  in 
the  defense  of  her  mate.  Mayhap  the  female  bird 
is  impressed  with  the  prowess  of  the  male  who  is 
victorious  in  battles  of  this  sort,  for  I  have 
observed  a  number  of  such  altercations  where  the 
female  took  no  part,  and  seemed  waiting  and  quite 
ready  to  bestow  herself  upon  the  victor,  whichever 
it  should  happen  to  be. 

Both  bank  and  rough-winged  swallows  nest 
every  year  in  the  canons  in  Deer  Park  near 
Oglesby,  Illinois,  making  their  nests  in  the  natural 
crevasses  of  the  sandrock  strata  which  forms  the 
walls  of  the  canons.  The  sand  dunes  and  high 
cliffs  adjacent  to  the  Great  Lakes  are  also  favorite 
nesting  resorts  for  the  bank  swallow. 

This  little  bird  is  the  smallest  of  our  swallows, 
and  can  be  readily  identified  by  its  nesting  habits, 
and  its  size,  and  the  conspicuous  brownish  gray 
band  across  its  upper  breast.  When  perched  on  an 
old  root  or  branch,  it  appears  to  have  no  neck  at 
all,  but  merely  a  neat  little  cap-like  head  set  down 
upon  its  trim  little  shoulders. 

The  cliff  and  barn  swallows  are  common  sum- 
mer residents.  The  purple  martin  is  also  common 
where  it  is  encouraged  to  build  and  is  not  driven 
from  the  bird  boxes  by  English  sparrows.  The 
tree  swallow,  although  a  rare  resident,  is  a  com- 
mon migrant  in  April  and  September.  The  latter 
is  conspicuously  beautiful  in  his  glossy  green  coat 
and  white  vest,  and  the  cliff  and  barn  swallows  are 
easily  distinguishable  by  their  bright  brown  mark- 


92  Twelve  Months  With 

ings.    The  long  forked  tail  of  the  latter  makes  his 
identification  easy. 

The  swallows,  by  their  darting,  skimming,  easy 
flight  have  inspired  a  number  of  our  poets  to 
express  their  longing  for  the  power  to  fly, — as  this, 
from  Anna  Boynton  Averill : 

"Oh,  to  feel  the  wild  thrill  of  the  swallow, 

The  wonder  of  the  wing, 
On  the  soft  blue  billows  of  air  to  follow 
The  summer,  and  soar  to  sing. 

To  drink  blue  air  and  to  feel  it  flowing 
Through  every  dainty  plume 

Uplifting,  pillowing,  bearing,  blowing, 
And  the  earth  below  in  bloom. 

Is  it  far  to  heaven,  O  swallow,  swallow? 

The  heavy-hearted  sings ; 
I  watch  thy  flight  and  I  long  to  follow, 

The  while  I  wait  for  wings." 

and  these  lines  from  Charlotte  Smith : 

"I  wish  I  did  his  power  possess 

That  I  might  learn,  sweet  bird,  from  thee, 
What  our  vain  systems  only  guess, 

And  know  from  what  wild  wilderness 
Thou  earnest  o'er  the  sea." 

But  to  return  to  Bailey  Creek.  A  little  farther 
up  stream  I  noticed  a  pair  of  phoebes  sitting  on 
the  exposed  roots  of  a  tree  which  hung  out  over  the 
water.  Lying  down  on  the  bank,  which  at  this 


The  Birds  and  Poets  93 

point  was  perpendicular  and  about  eight  feet  high, 
I  watched  the  birds  for  about  twenty  minutes,  hop- 
ing and  expecting  that  they  would  fly  to  their  nest 
somewhere  among  the  roots.  But  the  two  little  fly- 
catchers only  darted  about  snapping  insects  and 
made  no  effort  to  approach  their  nest.  I  felt  so 
certain,  however,  that  the  nest  would  be  found 
among  the  roots,  that  without  waiting  longer  I 
climbed  down  the  bank  where  I  could  examine  the 
roots  closely,  and  looked  them  all  over  very  care- 
fully, and  was  considerably  surprised  and  non- 
plussed to  find  no  nest.  Exposed  roots  of  this  kind 
are  in  high  favor  with  these  birds  as  nesting  sites. 
I  went  over  every  inch  of  the  ground  several  times, 
and  peered  into  all  the  corners  and  grottos,  and 
examined  every  root  individually,  but  no  nest  was 
to  be  seen.  I  climbed  up  the  bank  again  and 
looked  over  the  lower  branches  of  the  trees,  but  no 
nest  was  visible.  In  desperation  I  got  down  again 
under  the  roots,  and  extended  my  search  farther  up 
the  bank,  when  at  last  I  caught  sight  of  the  nest 
hung  like  a  little  round  basket  on  a  small  root  run- 
ning along  parallel  to  the  bank,  and  about  three 
inches  from  it,  the  nest  being  saddled  across  the 
root,  and  supported  on  one  side  by  the  perpendicu- 
lar wall  of  the  bank.  It  was  almost  directly  under 
the  point  where  I  had  stretched  myself  on  the  bank 
to  watch  the  birds,  which  accounted  for  their 
refusal  to  go  near  it.  I  laid  myself  down  on  the 
sod  above,  and  looked  into  the  nest,  which  con- 
tained four  very  young  birds.  The  nest  of  mud 


94  Twelve  Months  With 

was  covered  with  very  fine  rootlets  and  moss,  and 
was  one  of  the  prettiest  and  cleanest  phoebe's  nests 
I  have  ever  seen.  It  was  just  about  the  color  of  the 
adjacent  bank,  and  was  certainly  in  a  very  safe, 
secure  place. 

Leaving  the  young  family,  which  I  feared  might 
by  this  time  be  hungry,  I  started  through  a  little 
grove  which  at  this  point  bordered  the  creek,  when 
I  heard  what  appeared  to  be  a  young  bird  of  some 
kind  teasing  for  food.  I  soon  located  the  bird  on 
a  low  branch  of  a  maple  tree.  It  was  fussing  and 
teasing  and  fluffing  its  wings  and  feathers,  after  the 
fashion  of  a  young  robin  following  its  mother 
about  in  the  grass.  Because  of  its  obscure,  imma- 
ture markings  I  was  unable  to  determine  its  iden- 
tity. It  was  almost  as  large  as  a  mature  black  bird 
and  resembled  it  somewhat  in  appearance.  While 
I  was  watching  it  a  female  field  sparrow,  not  more 
than  half  its  size,  flew  upon  the  branch  and  fed 
the  bird  a  worm.  I  then  knew  that  it  was  a  young 
cowbird,  which  had  been  hatched  and  reared  by 
the  generous  little  field  sparrow,  and  was  still 
imposing  upon  her  kindness,  although  the  young 
bird  was  long  since  large  and  strong  enough  to 
take  care  of  itself.  The  poor  little  field  sparrow 
was  worked  almost  to  the  point  of  exhaustion  in 
her  efforts  to  satisfy  the  ravenous  appetite  of  the 
young  cowbird  who  followed  her  about  wherever 
she  went,  teasing  incessantly.  The  yellow  warbler 
and  the  vireos  are  also  frequently  imposed  upon  in 
this  way  by  the  cowbirds. 


The  Birds  and  Poets  95 

The  cowbirds  are  and  ought  to  be  outcasts  in  the 
bird  kingdom.  They  are  outlaws  and  polygamists. 
They  travel  about  in  groups  of  four  or  five  and 
never  build  a  nest  of  their  own.  When  a  female 
bird  desires  to  deposit  an  egg,  she  leaves  her  com- 
panions only  long  enough  to  seek  out  a  convenient 
nest  of  some  other  bird,  where  she  lays  her  egg,  and 
then  rejoins  her  companions,  basely  shirking  her 
duty  and  the  responsibilities  of  motherhood,  which 
she  shoulders  upon  some  generous  and  unsuspect- 
ing sparrow,  towhee  or  other  bird  who  knows  no 
better  than  to  raise  the  young  orphan  with  all  the 
care,  affection  and  zeal  which  she  bestows  upon 
her  own  legitimate  offspring.  Oftimes  the  young 
cowbirds  being  twice  the  size  of  the  other  birds, 
crowd  them  out  of  the  nest,  and  devour  most  of  the 
food  brought  by  the  parent  birds,  to  the  very  seri- 
ous disadvantage  of  the  young  birds  who  are 
entitled  to  the  exclusive  care  and  attention  of  their 
parents.  As  stated,  the  young  cowbirds  partake  of 
the  parasitic  character  of  their  unfaithful  natural 
parents,  and  compel  their  foster  mother  to  feed 
them  long  after  they  are  abundantly  able  to  care 
for  themselves  and  the  other  young  birds  have  left 
the  nest  to  shift  for  themselves.  By  this  circum- 
stance the  identity  of  the  big  clumsy  young  bird  so 
vigorously  clamoring  for  food  was  quickly  and 
definitely  established. 

I  know  of  no  poem  dedicated  to  this  ignoble 
bird  and  I  would  not  quote  it  if  I  did. 

It  was  an  interesting  adventure,  however,  and 


96  Twelve  Months  With 

the  pleasing  note  in  it  was  the  generous  devotion 
of  the  little  field  sparrow  to  an  unworthy  and  unde- 
serving fellow. 

The  cuckoo  sometimes  lays  its  eggs  in  the  nest 
of  the  sparrow  or  some  other  bird,  and  Shake- 
speare puts  into  the  mouth  of  the  fool  in  King 
Lear,  this  amusing  reference  to  the  same  greedy 
appetite  which  distinguishes  the  young  cowbird : 

"The  hedge  sparrow  fed  the  cuckoo  so  long 
That  it  had  its  head  bit  off  by  its  young." 

Resuming  my  walk  up  the  creek,  I  noticed  a 
kingfisher  sitting  on  an  old  dead  stub  above  a  high 
bank,  in  which  there  were  several  holes  one  of 
which  looked  promising.  Crossing  the  stream  I 
examined  the  opening  and  found  it  marked  with 
bird  tracks,  and  a  few  small  fish  bones,  which  led 
me  to  conclude  it  was  the  kingfisher's  nest.  I 
made  no  excavation,  however,  and  the  birds  were 
not  seen  entering  or  leaving,  so  that  I  was  unable 
to  determine  with  certainty  what  the  cavity  con- 
tained. One  of  the  birds  flew  up  and  down  the 
stream,  uttering  its  harsh  rattle,  resembling  "tiny 
castanets,"  such  as  Tennyson  ascribes  to  the  star- 
ling. 

Henry  Van  Dyke  relates  in  rhyme  how  a  certain 
Vain  King  made  a  boastful  wager  with  the  River 
God  disguised  as  a  peasant  fisherman  that  he  could 
excel  the  fisherman  in  his  art,  and,  upon  losing  the 
wager  was  doomed  to  fish  for  minnows  all  his  life, 


The  Birds  and  Poets  97 

"And  still,  along  the  reaches  of  the  stream, 
The  vain  Kingfisher  flits,  an  azure  gleam, — 
You  see  his  ruby  crest,  you  hear  his 
jealous  scream." 

In  my  boyhood  days  I  doubt  not  I  would  have 
dug  into  the  hole  for  the  purpose  of  making  sure  of 
its  contents,  but  the  scientific  exigency  must  be 
strong  and  compelling  indeed  which  would  now 
induce  me  to  disturb  a  bird's  nest,  its  eggs  or 
young.  I  confess  to  a  good  deal  of  eager  curiosity, 
however,  as  to  the  interior  of  that  hole  in  the  bank. 

On  the  opposite  side  of  the  stream  was  a  wide, 
sandy  point  jutting  into  the  water,  dotted  here  and 
there  with  tufts  of  grass  and  clumps  of  daisies.  I 
was  not  expecting  any  signs  of  birds  at  this  point, 
and  was  still  somewhat  under  the  spell  of  the  king- 
fisher, when  a  sparrow  sprang  up  apparently  some 
ten  feet  in  advance  of  me,  which  I  thought  at  first 
glance  was  a  vesper  sparrow,  because  of  its  con- 
spicuous white  tail  feathers.  Still  I  did  not  suspect 
there  was  a  nest,  because  of  the  unpromising  char- 
acter of  the  ground,  altho'  the  bird  when  flushed 
acted  as  if  she  had  just  left  her  nest.  I  stopped  and 
looked  at  the  bird  with  my  field  glass,  but  it  got 
beyond  the  range  of  my  glass  before  I  had  time  to 
examine  it  carefully.  I  glanced  down  at  a  small 
tuft  of  grass  at  my  feet,  and  there  between  two 
daisy  stems  was  the  bird's  nest  containing  three 
white  eggs,  scrawled  with  dark  spots.  I  was  now 
convinced  that  it  was  not  the  vesper  sparrow, 


98  Twelve  Months  With 

because  the  eggs  of  the  latter  are  marked  with 
clear  brown  spots.  The  purple  spots  on  these  eggs 
were  so  dark  as  to  be  almost  black,  and  were 
scrawled  and  strung  out  like  the  markings  on  the 
eggs  of  the  oriole.  I  was  now  very  eager  to  see 
more  of  the  mother  bird,  so  that  identification 
might  be  made  certain.  I  sat  down  on  a  log  a  few 
moments  hoping  she  would  return,  but  she  did  not. 
I  walked  over  to  the  phoebe's  nest  and  watched 
the  birds  feed  their  young  a  few  moments  and  as  I 
started  back  I  heard  what  sounded  like  young  birds 
teasing,  and  I  thought  it  might  be  the  young  cow- 
bird  again.  Upon  looking  up  through  the 
branches  I  discovered  an  old  dead  stub  with  a 
small  hole  in  it,  which  seemed  to  be  the  place 
whence  the  sound  came.  I  stepped  over  and  gently 
rapped  on  the  trunk  and  the  teasing  stopped 
instantly.  Waiting  a  moment,  a  female  downy 
woodpecker  flew  up  and  alighted  just  below  the 
hole,  with  her  beak  full  of  grubs  for  her  young. 
She  paused  a  moment  to  look  me  over  with  some 
apparent  alarm,  and  then  disappeared  into  the 
hole.  Very  soon  the  male  bird  also  flew  up  to  the 
hole  with  his  beak  full,  playing  the  part  of  the 
dutiful  husband  and  father,  in  rather  marked  con- 
trast to  the  neglect  of  the  male  spotted  sandpiper 
which  I  had  observed  earlier  in  the  day.  I  once 
timed  a  pair  of  downy  woodpeckers  feeding  their 
young,  and  found  that  each  bird  brought  a  grub 
to  the  nest  about  every  eight  minutes,  making  the 
feedings  average  one  every  four  minutes. 


The  Birds  and  Poets  99 

Returning  to  the  nest  between  the  daisy  stems,  I 
found  the  female  on  the  nest.  This  time  I  made  a 
careful  examination  of  her,  and  found  it  was  a  lark 
sparrow,  a  very  rare  resident  in  this  area.  With 
its  nest  there  in  the  sand  and  gravel,  I  thought  of 
Edith  Thomas'  verse  on  the  vesper  sparrow: 

"Upon  a  pasture  stone, 
Against  the  fading  west, 
A  small  bird  sings  alone, 
Then  dives  and  finds  its  nest." 

The  lark  sparrow  may  be  easily  distinguished 
from  the  vesper  sparrow,  for  though  both  have  the 
white  tail  feathers,  the  former's  tail  is  rounded,  and 
the  tips  of  the  outer  feathers  have  more  white,  and 
there  are  conspicuous  white  lines  over  the  eye  and 
through  the  crown  of  the  head. 

Our  camp  hostess  at  Bailey  Falls  showed  us  a 
cardinal's  nest  which  she  had  discovered  a  few 
days  before  about  100  feet  from  the  camp.  The 
nest  was  about  ten  feet  from  the  ground  in  a  small 
bush.  The  female  bird  stayed  on  the  nest  until  we 
pulled  the  branches  aside  to  look  at  her,  and  then 
she  quietly  slipped  out  on  the  opposite  side.  We 
drafted  an  old  table  into  service,  and  climbing 
upon  it  looked  into  the  nest,  which  contained  three 
pink-white  eggs,  marked  with  light  brown  spots. 
The  nest  was  made  of  strips  of  bark,  coarse  grass, 
and  rootlets,  thrown  together  in  neat  yet  careless 
manner  with  all  the  art  which  the  country  lass 
displays  in  doing  up  her  hair. 


ioo  Twelve  Months  With 

It  is  a  common  misapprehension  that  our  hum- 
ming bird  never  alights,  probably  because  it  is 
often  confounded  with  the  Sphinx  moth,  which 
plays  about  the  flowers  in  the  evening.  The  mis- 
take is  not  unnatural,  and  a  correction  is  sometimes 
received  with  incredulity.  As  a  matter  of  fact,  the 
bird  spends  but  a  comparatively  small  part  of  its 
time  on  the  wing.  Near  our  camp  at  Bailey  Falls 
a  male  humming  bird  perched  day  after  day  for 
half  an  hour  at  a  time  upon  a  telephone  wire.  Evi- 
dently there  was  a  nest  near  by  in  which  the  little 
outpost  was  interested,  but  we  were  unable  to 
locate  the  tiny  thing  in  any  of  the  neighboring 
trees.  It  was  doubtless  there  regardless  of  our 
inability  to  find  it.  Because  of  its  size,  and  the 
fact  that  it  is  always  saddled  on  a  horizontal  limb, 
and  covered  with  lichen  and  moss,  it  is  very  diffi- 
cult indeed  to  discover,  and  except  by  the  sharp- 
est eyes  will  usually  be  mistaken  for  a  knot  on 
the  limb. 

Humming  birds  are  curiously  fearless,  and  have 
been  known  to  feed  upon  sugar  held  between  the 
lips,  and  to  probe  a  flower  held  in  the  hand.  Not 
infrequently  they  fly  into  houses,  manifesting  the 
smallest  degree  of  suspicion.  Their  white  eggs 
which  are  about  the  size  of  a  navy  bean,  are  so 
fragile  that  egg  collectors  do  not  attempt  to  blow 
them,  as  they  do  other  eggs. 

With  its  metallic  ruby-red  throat,  and  its  shining 
green  back,  it  more  clearly  suggests  the  tropics 
than  any  of  our  birds.  Indeed,  it  is  the  only  one 


The  Birds  and  Poets  101 

of  an  American  genus  of  more  than  a  hundred 
species  which  ventures  beyond  the  limit  of  tropical 
climates. 

George  Murray's  poem  enquires: 

"Com'st  thou  from  forests  of  Peru, 

Or  from  Brazil's  savannahs, 
Where  flowers  of  every  dazzling  hue 
Flaunt,  gorgeous  as  Sultanas?" 

And  this  reference  to  the  valiant  defense  which 
the  female  makes  of  her  nest  is  wholly  accurate: 

"They  say,  when  hunters  track  her  nest 
Where  two  warm  pearls  are  lying, 
She  boldly  fights,  though  sore  distrest 
And  sends  the  brigands  flying." 

Of  the  many  poems  inspired  by  this  beautiful 
and  dainty  little  bird,  I  quote  the  following  by 
John  Banister  Tabb : 

"A  flash  of  harmless  lightning, 

A  mist  of  rainbow  dyes, 
The  burnished  sunbeams  brightening, 
From  flower  to  flower  he  flies. 

While  wakes  the  nodding  blossom, 

But  just  too  late  to  see 
What  lip  hath  touched  her  bosom 
And  drained  her  nectary." 


IO2  With  the  Birds  and  Poets 

And  these  exquisite  lines  by  John  Vance 
Cheney : 

"Voyager  on  golden  air, 
Type  of  all  that's  fleet  and  fair, 

Incarnate  gem, 

Live  diadem ! 
Stay,  forget  lost  Paradise, 
Star-bird  fallen  from  happy  skies — 

Vanished!    Earth  is  not  his  home, 
Onward,  onward  must  he  roam, 

Swift  passion-thought, 

In  rapture  wrought; 
Issue  of  the  soul's  desire, 
Plumed  with  beauty  and  with  fire." 

As  June  departs  this  picture  from  Lowell's  "Sir 
Launfal"  remains  in  my  memory  as  the  type  and 
symbol  of  this  home  month  of  the  birds : 

"The  little  bird  sits  at  his  door  in  the  sun, 
Atilt  like  a  blossom  among  the  leaves, 
And  lets  his  illumined  being  o'errun 
With  the  deluge  of  summer  it  receives ; 
His  mate  feels  the  eggs  beneath  her  wings, 
And  the  heart  in  her  dumb  breast  flutters  and  sings; 
He  sings  to  the  wide  world,  and  she  to  her  nest, — 
In  the  nice  ear  of  Nature  which  song  is  the  best?" 


JULY. 


How  well  we  loved,  in  Summer  solitude 
To  stroll  on  lonely  ridges  far  away, 
Where  beeches,  with  their  boles  of  Quaker  gray, 
Murmured  at  times  a  sylvan  interlude! 

We  heard  each  songster  warble  near  her  brood, 
And  from  the  lowland  where  the  mowers  lay 
Came  now  and  then  faint  fragrance  from  the  hay, 
That  touched  the  heart  to  reminiscent  mood. 

We  peered  down  wooded  steeps,  and  saw  the  sun 
Shining  in  front,  tip  all  the  grape-vines  wild, 
And  edge  with  light  the  bowlders'  lichened  groups; 

While,  deep  within  the  gorge,  the  tinkling  run 

Coiled  through  the  hollows  with  its  silvered  loops 
Down  to  the  waiting  River,  thousand-isled. 

—Lloyd  Mifflin. 

ULY  may  properly  be  called  the 
month  of   rest  among  the  birds. 
With  the  nesting  of  May  and  June 
over,  the  weary  birds  are  enjoying 
a  well-earned  rest,  and  the  woods 
and  fields  are  almost  silent,  and 
fewer  bird  notes  and  songs  are  heard  and  fewer 
birds  are  to  be  seen  in  July  than  in  any,  except  the 
winter  months. 
It  is  the  season  of 


"*     *     *     stare-dumb  dullness     *     *     * 
When  e'en  the  cocks  too  listless  are  to  crow.' 


IO4  Twelve  Months  With 

By  August  the  southward  march  of  fall  migra- 
tion sets  in,  and  the  birds  therefore  become  more 
plentiful.  July  marks  the  weary  close  of  the  nest- 
ing season,  and  the  heat  of  summer  seems  to  dis- 
courage the  few  tired  birds  that  favor  us  with  their 
society.  Even  the  friendly  musical  robin  is  sel- 
dom heard  from  the  tree  top  at  evening  in  the 
cheering  song  with  which  he  delights  us  in  spring 
and  early  summer. 

Lowell  says: 

"The  sobered  robin,  hunger  silent  now, 
Seeks  cedar  berries  blue,  his  autumn  cheer." 

I  once  attempted  to  raise  a  small  family  of  blue 
jays  that  for  some  reason  had  been  deserted  by  their 
parents,  and  since  that  arduous  experience  I  have 
had  more  respect  for  the  industry  and  patience  of 
the  birds  in  rearing  their  little  families.  The 
quantity  of  food  that  three  or  four  young  birds 
will  consume  from  birth  until  they  are  ready  to 
fly,  is  really  enormous,  and  the  gathering  of  it 
certainly  leaves  little  time  for  rest  or  recreation  for 
the  parents. 

The  nesting  season  is  not  wholly  past  by  July, 
because  many  of  the  birds  rear  two  or  three  and 
sometimes  four  broods  of  young  birds,  and  these 
later  families  are  frequently  found  in  July.  Also 
a  few  of  our  well  known  birds,  although  they  have 
been  with  us  all  season,  do  not  settle  down  to 
domestic  life  at  all  until  July.  I  have  often 


The  Birds  and  Poets  105 

observed  that  the  second  or  third  nests  built  late  in 
the  season,  noticeably  of  the  robin  and  some  of  the 
sparrows,  are  more  carelessly  constructed  and  lack 
the  art  and  comeliness  of  the  first  spring  nests. 
The  female  seems  more  anxious  to  deposit  her 
eggs  than  when  making  her  first  nest,  which  may 
account  in  part  for  her  more  slovenly  work.  Fre- 
quently the  first  brood  have  not  yet  started  out  for 
themselves  when  the  second  nest  is  begun,  so  that 
the  attention  of  the  parents  is  divided  between  the 
young  birds  and  the  new  nest.  I  have  wondered 
also  if  it  were  a  part  of  the  birds'  instinct  to  know 
that  the  first  spring  nest  must  be  more  carefully 
and  securely  built  in  order  safely  to  withstand  the 
more  frequent  and  violent  spring  storms,  against 
which  the  buds  and  early  leaves  afford  a  some- 
what inadequate  protection  as  compared  with  the 
heavy  foliage  of  the  summer  months. 

Among  the  more  common  songsters  of  July  may 
be  mentioned  the  scarlet  tanager,  the  indigo  bunt- 
ing, the  rose-breasted  grosbeak,  the  goldfinch,  the 
ubiquitous  house  wren  and  an  occasional  cardinal. 

About  the  middle  of  the  month  a  cardinal  wan- 
dered to  my  back  yard,  from  her  haunts  along  the 
Desplaines  River,  and  there  "told  her  dream  to 
the  dragon-fly"  and  to  me,  but  these  are  rather  rare 
joys  for  July,  for  the  cardinal  is  more  often  seen 
in  May  and  June,  during  the  mating  and  nesting 
season.  While  now  common  summer  residents  in 
certain  localities  in  Northern  Illinois  and  Indiana, 
twenty  years  ago  they  were  rather  rare.  They  pre- 


io6  Twelve  Months  With 

fer  the  deep  woods  however  and  seldom  in  this 
latitude  wander  near  the  habitations  of  man. 

Cedar-birds  nest  with  us  in  July,  but  they  have 
no  song,  and  they  no  longer  go  about  in  small 
flocks  of  five  to  nine  birds  as  they  do  in  the  spring, 
and  therefore  are  not  very  frequently  seen.  I  have 
also  found  the  yellow-billed  cuckoo  nesting  as  late 
as  the  last  week  of  July. 

On  the  first  day  of  July  this  year  ( 1916)  I  visited 
a  small  lake  near  Libertyville,  111.,  for  the  purpose 
of  observing  a  colony  of  yellow-headed  blackbirds 
which  had  nested  there.  These  beautiful  birds 
were  at  one  time  quite  plentiful  in  the  area  sur- 
rounding Chicago  and  especially  around  Lake 
Calumet,  Indiana,  but  many  of  the  large  marshes 
which  these  birds  so  enjoy  have  been  drained,  and 
the  birds  are  now  rather  uncommon.  I  was  quite 
happy  therefore  to  travel  some  forty  miles  to  pay 
my  respects  to  the  colony  at  Libertyville.  Their 
nesting  season  was  practically  if  not  quite  past;  at 
least  I  found  no  nests  containing  either  eggs  or 
young  birds,  but  the  brightly  colored  male  birds 
were  more  tame  than  they  are  during  the  nesting 
time,  and  I  enjoyed  their  raucous,  unmusical  noise, 
and  their  graceful  antics  in  the  marsh  grass.  These 
blackbirds  are  more  often  seen  in  the  fall,  in  small 
flocks,  on  the  ground  sometimes  in  company  with 
cowbirds,  but  during  the  nesting  season  they 
locate  in  colonies,  in  their  favorite  marshes. 

The  yellow-head  is  a  beautiful  blackbird,  and 
very  appropriately  named.  The  whole  head,  neck, 


The  Birds  and  Poets  107 

throat  and  breast  of  the  male  are  bright  orange  yel- 
low, with  the  region  before  the  eye  black  like  the 
rest  of  his  plumage.  The  white  wing  bars  are 
lower  down  than  the  red  shoulder  patch  of  his 
cousin,  the  red-winged  blackbird. 

The  red-wing,  blithesome  inhabitant  of  the  cat- 
tail marshes,  companion  of  every  boy  who  goes 
fishing,  is  remembered  in  his  "Lyrics  of  a  Lad,"  by 
Scharmel  Iris: 

"Fire  bearer  of  the  Gods! — blue  black — 
With  flecks  of  sunshine  on  thy  back! 
Thou  herald  Mercury,  with  flame 
Upon  thy  shoulders!     Dost  proclaim 
In  sweat  and  pangs  the  pregnant  Night 
Brings  forth  the  wondrous  infant  Light? 


When  sunbeams  dance  in  Dawn's  ballet 
Thou  breakest  through  the  blue  of  day; 
A  shaft  of  throbbing  crimson  flame, 
Flown  from  God's  Hand  to  earth  ye  came; 
Darting  bewildered  woodlands  through, 
Unquenched  by  morning's  pools  of  dew." 

While  not  so  musical  as  the  red-wing,  as  he 
"flutes  his  o-ka-lee,"  as  Emerson  so  well  expresses 
it,  the  song  of  the  yellow-head  is  a  typical  black- 
bird song.  Tennyson  refers  to  the  summer  notes 
of  the  blackbird  as  contrasted  with  his  "silver 
tongue"  of  early  spring: 


io8  Twelve  Months  With 

"And  in  the  sultry  garden-squares, 

Now  thy  flute  notes  are  changed  to  coarse, 
I  hear  thee  not  at  all,  or  hoarse 
As  when  a  hawker  hawks  his  wares." 

The  usual  raucous  notes  of  the  yellow-head  are 
not  unlike  a  "hawker  hawking  his  wares,"  rather 
laborious  and  squeaky,  yet  with  here  and  there  an 
agreeable  whistle  thrown  in  unexpectedly. 

Upon  the  occasion  of  this  visit  to  the  yellow- 
heads,  I  alighted  from  the  train  at  a  bridge  over  a 
small  stream,  near  which  I  expected  to  find  the 
colony  of  blackbirds.  Before  I  had  gotten  down 
the  embankment  I  caught  sight  of  a  female  blue- 
bird carrying  a  grub  to  a  hole  in  an  old  elm  stub 
beside  the  stream  while  the  male  bird  was 

"*      *      *     shifting  his  light  load  of  song 
From  post  to  post  along  the  cheerless  fence." 

as  Lowell  so  beautifully  and  aptly  describes  the 
fluttering  flight  and  bubbling  song  of  this  "April 
poem  that  God  has  dowered  with  wings." 

As  the  date  was  July  first,  this  must  have  been 
at  least  the  third  brood  of  young  birds  for  this 
pair,  because  they  often  begin  nesting  as  early  as 
the  first  week  in  April. 

A  little  farther  down  the  stream,  as  I  sat  down 
under  an  elm  to  rest  and  enjoy  the  cool  shade  for 
a  moment,  I  observed  a  pair  of  red-headed  wood- 
peckers regularly  visiting  an  old  dead  sycamore, 
and,  upon  inspecting  the  opposite  side  of  the  stub, 


The  Birds  and  Poets  109 

found  the  opening  to  the  nest,  some  twenty  feet 
from  the  ground. 

As  I  lay  in  the  grass  the  hole  in  the  tree  was 
just  out  of  sight,  but  I  could  see  the  tail  of  the 
bird  protruding  at  right  angles  with  the  upright 
trunk  as  it  stopped  momentarily  on  its  way  into 
the  nest,  and,  watching  that  particular  point  of 
the  side  of  the  trunk,  the  bird's  red  head  soon 
appeared  again.  After  a  moment's  survey  it  would 
fly  out  to  catch  more  insects  for  the  young  birds. 
In  addition  to  being  a  "grubber,"  the  red-head  is 
quite  an  accomplished  flycatcher,  and  during  the 
half  hour  that  I  watched  this  pair  feeding  their 
young,  they  were  almost  constantly  darting  out 
from  the  old  dead  branches  of  the  sycamore,  catch- 
ing insects  on  the  wing.  Not  once  did  I  see  either 
bird  alight,  woodpecker  fashion,  on  an  upright 
stem  of  tree  or  limb. 

This  was  also  a  second  or  third  brood,  no  doubt, 
as  the  red-heads  begin  nesting  from  the  loth  to 
the  1 5th  of  May. 

The  red-head  is  the  most  beautiful  of  our  wood- 
peckers, and  Mr.  Burroughs  speaks  of  his  flight 
through  the  woods  as  "connecting  the  trees  by  a 
gentle  arc  of  crimson  and  white." 

Resuming  my  saunter  down  the  bank  of  the 
stream,  I  came  to  an  open  grove  in  which  were 
a  large  number  of  thorn  apple  trees  and  bushes, 
which  seemed  most  favorable  nesting  places  for 
the  cedar  waxwing,  and  I  resolved  to  keep  a 
sharp  lookout  for  the  little  domicile  of  this  July 


I  io  Twelve  Months  With 

favorite.  I  had  not  walked  far  when  I  espied  a 
male  cedar-bird  perched  upon  one  of  the  low 
outer  branches  of  a  large  elm,  near  which  was  a 
large  and  very  dense  thorn  apple  tree.  The  male 
bird  uttered  his  well-known  "beady  note"  several 
times,  and  watched  me  anxiously,  raising  his  crest, 
as  he  frequently  does  when  excited,  and  I  con- 
cluded there  was  a  nest  near  at  hand,  where  his 
mate  might  be  found.  After  watching  him  a  few 
moments  without  receiving  any  hint  as  to  the 
whereabouts  of  the  nest,  I  approached  the  thorn 
apple  tree,  and  the  male  immediately  flew  over 
the  tree,  showing  considerable  anxiety.  After 
careful  search  in  the  dense  foliage  I  discovered 
the  nest  out  on  the  fork  of  a  small  limb,  about 
fifteen  feet  from  the  ground.  The  mother  bird 
was  on  the  nest,  her  crest  and  tail  appearing  over 
the  edge.  I  pulled  at  the  lower  branches,  but 
she  merely  peered  over  at  me  with  evident  alarm. 
I  secured  a  stick  and  beat  the  foliage  around  her, 
but  she  still  refused  to  leave  the  nest. 

The  foliage  of  the  tree  was  very  dense,  and,  in 
addition  to  its  own  closely  hanging  branches,  a 
large  grape  vine  about  three  inches  in  diameter  at 
the  base  climbed  up  and  wound  itself  among  the 
limbs,  making  an  ideal  place  in  which  to  secrete 
a  nest.  Unable  to  curb  my  curiosity,  I  resolved 
to  climb,  and,  removing  my  coat  to  reduce,  so  far 
as  I  might,  the  vulnerable  surfaces  for  the  wait- 
ing thorns,  essayed  the  ascent.  I  managed,  with 
a  good  deal  of  difficulty  and  after  suffering  a 


The  Birds  and  Poets  in 

number  of  wounds,  to  get  up  among  the  smaller 
branches,  whereupon  the  female  quietly  slipped 
out  of  the  nest.  The  nest  was  far  out,  upon  so 
small  a  limb  that  I  was  just  able  to  look  into  it 
by  climbing  up  near  the  center  of  the  tree  and 
drawing  the  branches  aside.  It  contained  but  one 
egg,  pale  bluish-gray  in  color,  spotted  with  umber. 
The  nest  was  therefore  probably  begun  about  the 
25th  of  June,  as  the  building  usually  consumes 
about  four  days,  and  then  four  eggs  are  laid  in  as 
many  days,  and  the  young  birds  are  hatched  within 
two  weeks  of  the  time  the  first  egg  is  laid. 

The  nest  was  a  fine,  soft  structure,  composed  of 
strips  of  bark,  grasses,  rootlets  and  moss,  and  lined 
with  finer  materials  of  the  same  nature. 

The  descent  from  the  thorn  apple  tree  was  a 
good  deal  like  withdrawing  an  embedded  fish- 
hook. All  the  thorns  in  the  tree  seemed  to  be 
headed  my  way  as  I  backed  down  between  the 
branches,  and,  not  being  able  to  see  and  avoid 
them  while  making  the  return  trip,  the  cedar-birds 
were  amply  revenged  by  the  good  thorn  tree  for 
the  temporary  annoyance  to  which  I  had  subjected 
them. 

With  the  exception  of  the  goldfinch,  the  cedar- 
bird  ,nests  with  us  later  than  any  of  our  birds, 
seldom  beginning  to  build  until  about  the  first  of 
July.  No  doubt  the  reason  for  this  is  that  suit- 
able food  for  the  young  cannot  be  found  earlier 
in  the  season,  which  is  also  the  probable  reason 
for  the  similar  delay  in  the  case  of  the  goldfinch. 


112  Twelve  Months  With 

The  cedar-bird  is  one  of  our  earliest  arrivals  in 
April,  and  yet  it  does  not  settle  down  to  the  serious 
business  of  housekeeping  until  July.  Some  very 
good  reason,  such  as  suitable  food  supply,  must 
exist  for  this  very  unusual  practice. 

The  waxwing  gets  its  name  from  the  tipping 
of  bright  red  horny  substance,  resembling  sealing 
wax  in  appearance,  on  the  short  wing  feathers,  and 
sometimes  on  the  feathers  of  the  tail. 

Like  the  catbird,  the  cedar  waxwing  sometimes 
shows  its  good  will  and  brotherly  love  by  feeding 
the  orphaned  young  of  other  birds,  and  on  the 
whole  they  should  be  classed  among  our  most 
gentle,  refined  and  charming  birds.  Like  the  blue- 
birds, flickers  and  some  of  the  sparrows,  they  some- 
times choose  wild,  remote  places  for  their  nests, 
and  at  other  times  will  select  a  fruit  tree  close  to 
house  or  barn. 

Some  reputable  authorities  contend  that  the 
black  tern  does  not  subsist  upon  fish  at  all,  but 
upon  this  walk  I  observed  two  of  these  birds  flying 
over  the  river  and  the  adjoining  bottom  land,  and 
one  of  them  twice  plunged  head  foremost  into  the 
water,  very  much  after  the  fashion  of  the  king- 
fisher, which  would  seem  to  be  a  wholly  useless 
performance  if  the  bird  were  merely  feeding  upon 
aquatic  insects,  as  it  is  claimed  it  does. 

The  black  tern  is  a  beautiful,  graceful  bird, 
with  black  head  and  body  and  slaty-gray  wings. 
The  wings  are  very  long  and  the  body  small  and 
the  tail  short,  after  the  fashion  of  the  swallow.  It 


The  Birds  and  Poets  113, 

is  sometimes  called  the  black  swallow,  although 
it  is  about  twice  the  size  of  a  barn  swallow.  It  is 
a  not  uncommon  summer  resident,  usually  nesting 
adjacent  to  marshy  lakes. 

The  western  house  wren  is  the  species  now  so 
common  in  all  our  suburbs  and  country  towns^ 
building  in  boxes  erected  on  the  lawns.  I  once 
found  a  nest  of  this  little  bird  in  the  side  of  a 
straw  stack,  which  presented  a  striking  example 
of  the  persistence  of  instinct.  The  house  wren 
always  builds  its  nest  of  coarse  sticks,  and  in  build- 
ing its  nest  in  the  straw  stack  the  bird  faithfully 
followed  the  traditions  of  her  race  in  this  regard 
and  carried  coarse  dead  twigs  into  the  soft  straw, 
although  the  latter  would  have  made  a  much  more 
suitable  cradle  for  the  eggs  and  young,  but  the 
little  wren,  guided  solely  by  instinct,  was-  not 
capable  of  thinking  this  out  for  herself. 

This  bird  sometimes  nests  in  suitable  holes 
and  natural  cavities  in  the  remote  woods,  and 
I  observed  a  pair  back  in  the  deep  woods  on  the 
occasion  of  my  trip  to  Libertyville.  When  found 
in  the  yards,  in  artificial  boxes,  it  may  be  unmis- 
takably set  down  as  a  house  wren,  but  when  seen 
in  the  woods  it  must  needs  be  distinguished  from 
the  Carolina  wren  and  the  winter  wren.  This  may 
be  done  without  much  difficulty,  because  the  Caro- 
lina has  a  distinct  white  line  over  the  eye,  and 
the  winter  wren  is  a  migrant,  to  be  seen  only  in 
the  spring  and  fall,  and  then  always  hopping 
in  and  out  under  old  stumps  and  logs  in  the 


114  Twelve  Months  With 

woods.  It  is  very  short  and  stubby  and  notice- 
ably browner  than  the  house  wren.  The  Caro- 
lina wren  has  one  of  the  most  beautiful  of  all 
bird  songs,  a  clear,  liquid  whistle — "<whee-dule! 
vohee-dulel  whee-dule!"  -  somewhat  resembling 
the  whistle  of  the  cardinal. 

Early  last  spring  I  was  delightfully  entertained 
for  half  an  hour  by  a  little  winter  wren  which  I 
met  in  the  woods.  He  was  on  his  usual  perch, 
an  old  upturned,  decaying  stump.  As  soon  as  he 
bobbed  under  one  of  the  roots  I  quietly  stepped 
up  close  to  the  stump,  without  being  observed, 
and  sat  down  to  watch  him,  for  I  knew  he  would 
soon  bob  out  again  on  the  other  side  of  one  of 
the  upturned  roots.  As  I  expected,  he  immedi- 
ately hopped  out  and  jerked  his  little  tail  about 
and  peered  into  all  the  dark  holes  and  shadows 
of  the  stump.  After  ducking  under  one  root  and 
coming  up  again,  he  would  jerk  himself  under 
the  next  one,  as  pert  and  active  as  a  jack-in-the- 
box,  wholly  disdainful  of  my  presence.  This 
characteristic  habit,  and  his  short,  stubby  body, 
with  his  more  brownish  plumage  and  white  wing 
bars,  mark  him  unmistakably  as  the  winter  wren. 

The  only  other  wren,  in  addition  to  those  men- 
tioned, which  is  common  in  this  latitude  is  the 
long-billed  marsh  wren.  These  saucy  little  inhab- 
itants of  the  cattail  marshes  stay  with  us  all  sum- 
mer. They  nest  in  the  marshes  at  the  south  end  of 
Lake  Michigan,  in  the  Calumet  region,  and  similar 
localities.  They  build  a  globular  nest  of  coarse 


The  Birds  and  Poets  115 

grasses  and  reed  stalks,  which  is  strapped  with 
the  same  material  to  reeds  or  cattails,  about  eight 
to  twelve  inches  above  the  water,  with  the  entrance 
at  the  side.  They  are  said  to  resort  to  the  clever 
strategy  of  building  a  number  of  nests,  for  the 
sole  purpose  of  misleading  their  enemies  and 
attracting  them  away  from  the  real  domicile.  I 
am  constrained  to  concede  them  this  wisdom,  for 
I  have  always  found  it  necessary  to  look  through 
a  number  of  equally  promising  nests  before  I 
found  one  containing  eggs. 

The  long-billed  marsh  wren  is  one  of  the  most 
active,  nervous,  excitable  bits  of  feathered  life  one 
ever  sees.  His  song  is  louder  and  more  musical 
than  the  house  wren's,  but  it  is  a  typical  rollick- 
ing wren  song,  and  after  hearing  the  song  I  have 
often  watched  the  rushes  whence  the  sound  came, 
unable  to  catch  sight  of  the  little  reed-colored  bird, 
when  suddenly  he  would  virtually  tumble  up  into 
the  air  over  the  rushes,  and  as  suddenly  tumble 
down  again,  out  of  sight,  accompanying  this  aerial 
performance  with  his  rippling,  bubbling,  gurgling 
song.  At  other  times  he  will  perch  on  a  reed  or 
rush  stem  and,  throwing  his  head  back  and  his 
tail  straight  up,  sing  until  his  little  body  is  vibrant 
with  ecstasy.  His  tail  is  always  brought  straight 
up  in  the  air  when  he  sings,  unlike  the  house 
wren,  who  brings  his  tail  down  while  singing.  I 
once  visited  a  colony  of  these  birds  near  Millers, 
Indiana,  and  while  my  companion  and  I  were 
watching  one  of  them  sing,  he  threw  his  little 


1 16  Twelve  Months  With 

tail  up  and  his  little  head  back  until  they  came 
together  over  his  back  and  played  a  little  tattoo 
accompaniment  to  his  rippling  song. 

Any  account  of  the  July  birds  would  be  incom- 
plete without  mention  of  the  American  goldfinch, 
the  indigo  bunting  and  the  scarlet  tanager,  three 
of  the  most  conspicuous  and  beautiful  summer 
birds  which  sing  more  or  less  regularly  all 
summer. 

The  goldfinch,  commonly  called  the  wild  canary 
or  yellow  bird,  is  well  known  to  all,  and  is  easily 
identified  by  its  bright  golden  yellow  body  and 
black  cap,  wings  and  tail.  Its  song  is  also  charac- 
teristic, closely  resembling  the  notes  of  many  cage 
canaries.  Its  manner  of  flight  is  also  unusual,  and 
will  serve  to  identify  the  bird  at  a  height  where 
its  plumage  is  indistinguishable.  Dr.  Frank  M. 
Chapman  gives  a  striking  drawing  in  his  "Birds 
of  Eastern  North  America,"  which  shows  the 
characteristic  combination  of  undulating  flight  and 
song  of  this  little  bird.  It  is  worth  reproducing 
here: 


With  each  undulating  movement  of  its  flight  the 
little  bird  seems  to  shake  out  a  "per-chic-o-ree," 
which  in  turn  seems  to  propel  its  little  body  ahead 
for  another  undulation.  This  note  made  in  flight 
is  not  its  real  song,  which  is  a  fine,  canary-like 


The  Birds  and  Poets  117 

varied  melody,  one  of  the  most  exquisite  and  dainty 
of  bird  songs.  England's  poet  laureate,  Robert 
Bridges,  describes  the  song  and  flight  of  the 
"yellow  bird"  in  these  delicately  beautiful  lines: 

"What  have  I  seen  or  heard? 

It  was  the  yellow-bird 
Sang  in  the  tree :  he  flew 

A  flame  against  the  blue; 
Upward  he  flashed.  Again, 

Hark!     'Tis  his  heavenly  strain. 

Another !     Hush !     Behold 

Many  like  boats  of  gold, 
From  waving  branch  to  branch 

Their  airy  bodies  launch. 
What  music  is  this, 

Where  each  note  is  a  kiss? 

How  the  delicious  notes 

Come  bubbling  from  their  throats! 
Full  and  sweet,  how  they  are  shed 

Like  round  pearls  from  a  thread! 
The  motions  of  their  flight 

Are  wishes  of  delight." 

Seed-bearing  plants  and  thistles  furnish  them 
with  their  favorite  food  of  tiny  seeds,  and  the 
abundance  of  this  food  supply  in  July  and  August 
probably  accounts  for  their  delay  in  nesting  until 
late  summer.  I  once  found  a  nest  of  the  goldfinch, 
with  young,  as  late  as  the  third  of  September. 


Ii8  Twelve  Months  With 

The  goldfinch's  nest  is  composed  of  tender  grass 
and  fine,  slender  strips  of  bark,  and  it  is  literally 
filled  with  thistle  down  and  silky  materials  for  a 
lining,  upon  which  are  nestled  the  dainty  pale  blue 
eggs,  like  bits  of  blue  sky  peeping  through  fleecy 
white  clouds. 

John  Keats  did  not  write  many  nature  poems, 
so  called,  but  he  chose  a  worthy  subject  when  he 
selected  the  goldfinch: 

"Sometimes  goldfinches  one  by  one  will  drop 
From  low  hung  branches;  little  space  they  stop, 
But  sip,  and  twitter  and  their  feathers  sleek, 
Then  off  at  once,  as  in  a  wanton  freak; 
Or  perhaps,  to  show  their  black  and  golden  wings, 
Pausing  upon  their  yellow  flutterings." 

Except  when  nesting,  the  goldfinches  usually 
travel  about  in  flocks,  but  in  July  and  August  they 
will  be  seen  singly  or  in  pairs,  and  almost  every 
despised  thistle  stalk  by  the  roadside  will  be  found 
gloriously  crowned  with  a  goldfinch,  either  eating 
the  seeds  or  gathering  down  for  its  nest. 

The  indigo  bunting  is  a  trifle  larger  than  the 
goldfinch,  with  plumage  of  deep  rich  blue,  tinged 
with  green,  terminating  in  black  on  the  wings  and 
tail.  It  may  be  seen  almost  any  day  in  midsummer 
on  the  margin  of  the  woods,  in  the  sun,  which 
position  it  seems  greatly  to  prefer  over  the  deep 
shadows  of  the  forest.  Its  beautiful  warbling 
song  may  be  heard  all  through  the  summer  at  all 
hours  of  the  day,  when  most  other  birds  seem 


The  Birds  and  Poets  119 

dumb  and  exhausted  with  the  heat.  Some  of  its 
notes  resemble  the  wiry,  tenuous  notes  of  the 
goldfinch,  but  in  general  its  song  is  much  louder 
and  more  open  and  warbler-like,  and  may  be 
suggested  by  "ch-ree!  ch-ree!  ch-ree!  ch-ree! 
ch-rah!  rap-rep!"  often  ending  with  a  jumble  of 
confused  notes  wholly  untranslatable. 

It  feeds  largely  upon  seeds,  after  the  manner 
of  the  goldfinch,  and  is  readily  reared  in  a  cage 
on  the  diet  of  the  canary. 

When  nesting  the  male  bird  may  be  seen  for 
hours  at  a  time  perched  upon  a  telephone  wire  or 
low  tree  or  shrub,  singing  joyously  to  its  mate  on 
the  nest  near  by. 

It  would  not  be  summer  without  this  blithe- 
some little  blue  bunting,  brilliant  both  in  song 
and  plumage. 

His  blue  plumage  and  glad  song  are  celebrated 
in  the  following  stanzas  by  Ethelwyn  Wetherald : 

"When  I  see, 

High  on  the  tip-top  twig  of  a  tree, 
Something  blue  by  the  breezes  stirred, 
But  so  far  up  that  the  blue  is  blurred, 
So  far  up  no  green  leaf  flies 
'Twixt  its  blue  and  the  blue  of  the  skies, 
Then  I  know,  ere  a  note  be  heard, 
That  is  naught  but  the  Indigo  bird. 

Blue  on  the  branch  and  blue  in  the  sky, 
And  naught  between  but  the  breezes  high, 
And  naught  so  blue  by  the  breezes  stirred 
As  the  deep,  deep  blue  of  the  Indigo  bird. 


I2O  Twelve  Months  With 

When  I  hear 

A  song  like  a  bird  laugh,  blithe  and  clear, 

As  though  of  some  airy  jest  he  has  heard 

The  last  and  most  delightful  word; 

A  laugh  as  fresh  in  the  August  haze 

As  it  was  in  the  full-voiced  April  days; 

Then  I  know  that  my  heart  is  stirred 

By  the  laugh-like  song  of  the  Indigo  bird. 

Joy  on  the  branch  and  joy  in  the  sky, 
And  naught  between  but  the  breezes  high, 
And  naught  so  glad  on  the  breezes  heard 
As  the  gay,  gay  note  of  the  Indigo  bird." 

The  last  of  this  trio  of  bright  little  midsummer 
birds  is  by  common  consent  one  of  the  most  beauti- 
ful of  all  our  birds — the  scarlet  tanager.  It  is 
the  common  "redbird"  of  our  boyhood,  almost  as 
well  known  as  the  robin,  altho'  far  less  common. 
Except  for  black  wings  and  tail,  its  body  is  almost 
wholly  a  brilliant  scarlet,  and  no  aids  to  his  iden- 
tification beyond  this  are  at  all  necessary. 

Many  poems  have  been  written  in  praise  of 
him,  from  which  I  select  the  following,  by  Joel 
Benton : 

"A  ball  of  fire  shoots  through  the  tamarack 
In  scarlet  splendor,  on  voluptuous  wings; 
Delirious  joy  the  pyrotechnist  brings, 
Who  makes  for  us  high  summer's  almanac. 
How  instantly  the  red  coat  hurtles  back! 
No  fiercer  flame  has  flashed  beneath  the  sky, 


The  Birds  and  Poets  121 

Note  how  the  rapture  in  his  cautious  eye, 
The  conflagration  lit  along  his  track. 
Winged  soul  of  beauty,  tropic  in  desire, 
Thy  love  seems  alien  in  our  northern  zone; 
Thou  giv'st  to  our  green  lands  a  burst  of  fire 
And  callest  back  the  fables  we  disown. 
The  hot  equator  thou  might' st  well  inspire, 
Or  stand  above  some  eastern  Monarch's  throne." 

and  the  following  beautiful  lines  by  Mary  Augusta 
Mason: 

"A  flame  went  flitting  through  the  wood; 
The  neighboring  birds  all  understood 

Here  was  a  marvel  of  their  kind; 
And  silent  was  each  feathered  throat 
To  catch  the  brilliant  stranger's  note, 
And  folded  every  songster's  wing 
To  hide  its  sober  coloring. 

Against  the  tender  green  outlined, 
He  bore  himself  with  splendid  ease 
As  though  alone  among  the  trees. 
The  glory  passed  from  bough  to  bough — 
The  maple  was  in  blossom  now, 
And  then  the  oak  remembering 
The  crimson  hint  it  gave  in  spring, 
And  every  tree  its  branches  swayed 
And  offered  its  inviting  shade; 
Where'er  a  bough  detained  him  long, 
A  slender,  silver  thread  of  song 
Was  lightly,  merrily  unspun. 
From  early  morn  till  day  was  done 

The  vision  flitted  to  and  fro." 


122  Twelve  Months  With 

Unlike  the  indigo  bird,  the  tanager,  during  the 
nesting  season  in  July,  prefers  the  depths  of  the 
green  woods.  His  mate  is  singularly  unlike  him 
in  appearance,  the  upper  parts  of  her  plumage 
being  light  olive  green,  wings  and  tail  dark  gray, 
and  under  parts  greenish  yellow.  Florence  A. 
Merriam  speaks  of  the  male  scarlet  tanager  as  a 
"bird  of  glowing  coal,  whose  brilliancy  passes 
wonder."  His  song  is  a  loud,  cheery,  rhythmical 
carol,  suggesting  the  song  of  the  robin. 

No  day  should  be  counted  lost  in  which  one  has 
seen  a  scarlet  tanager!  The  oak  and  the  sumac 
refuse  to  deck  themselves  in  their  autumn  colors 
until  the  tanager  has  gone,  lest  they  should  suffer 
by  comparison! 

One  of  the  most  common  midsummer  songs 
about  my  home  is  that  of  the  rose-breasted  gros- 
beak. This  bird  begins  nesting  the  latter  part  of 
May  or  early  June,  but  continues  to  sing  through 
July.  The  song  is  generally  compared  to  that  of 
the  robin.  If  the  robin  sang  its  song  with  the 
oriole's  vocal  equipment,  I  think  the  result  would 
be  pretty  close  to  the  song  of  the  rosebreast.  In 
short,  the  similarity  to  the  robin's  song  is  great 
as  to  form,  but  the  rosebreast's  notes  are  much 
more  liquid  and  warbler-like,  with  the  whistling, 
fluting  quality  of  the  oriole.  It  is  an  exquisitely 
pure  carol  and  a  perfect  conductor  of  the  bird's 
happiness  to  one  who  is  fortunate  enough  to  hear 
it.  I  once  heard  a  robin  answering  the  rosebreast's 
call,  evidently  mistaking  it  for  the  song  of  its  mate. 


The  Birds  and  Poets  123 

In  the  elm  trees  about  our  village  this  fine  bird 
may  be  seen  all  through  the  summer,  hopping 
about  well  up  in  the  branches.  He  is  so  friendly 
and  unafraid  that  he  will  often  continue  his  carol 
in  the  trees  above  while  one  passes  on  the  sidewalk 
beneath. 

Nuttall  says  that,  with  the  solitary  exception  of 
the  mocking  bird,  he  is  not  acquainted  with  any 
of  our  birds  superior  in  song  to  the  rose-breasted 
grosbeak. 

The  male  rose-breasted  grosbeak  is  easily  iden- 
tified by  his  bright  rose-red  breast.  He  resembles 
a  large  sparrow  in  form  and  has  a  sparrow  bill, 
although  it  is  heavier  and  stouter,  with  bristles  at 
its  base.  His  head,  throat,  back  and  wings  are 
black,  and  his  white  rump  and  white  tail  feathers 
are  conspicuous.  The  female  is  more  modestly 
attired  with  colors  less  distinct,  and  a  white  line 
over  the  eye. 

The  little  olive  green  red-eyed  vireo,  with  his 
slaty  gray  cap  and  conspicuous  white  eye  line, 
is  also  a  common  summer  resident,  and  in  the 
localities  where  he  nests  his  song  is  incessant, 
even  during  the  heat  of  long  summer  days.  Wil- 
son Flagg's  description  reflects  accurately  the 
character  of  this  little  bird's  song:  "We  might 
suppose  him  to  be  repeating  moderately,  with  a 
pause  between  each  sentence,  'You  see  it — you  know 
it — do  you  hear  me? — do  you  believe  it?'  All 
these  strains  are  delivered  with  a  rising  inflection 
at  the  close,  and  with  a  pause,  as  if  waiting  for 


124  With  the  Birds  and  Poets 

an  answer."  The  warbling  and  the  yellow-breasted 
vireos  are  also  more  or  less  common.  The  former's 
song  resembles  the  robin's,  though  it  is  more  pure 
and  liquid  in  quality,  and  the  latter  is  distinguish- 
able by  its  larger  size  and  bright  yellow  under 
parts. 

With  these  few  choice  summer  songsters  to 
delight  the  long  sultry  days,  we  almost  forget  the 
myriads  of  birds  lost  to  us  back  in  the  new  spring- 
time, for,  after  all,  July  has  a  summer  charm  all 
its  own: 

"A  pleasing  land  of  drowsy  head  it  was, 

Of  dreams  that  wave  before  the  half-shut  eye; 
And  of  gay  castles  in  the  clouds  that  pass, 
Forever  flushing  round  a  summer  sky." 


AUGUST. 

All  the  long  August  afternoon, 
The  little  drowsy  stream 
Whispers  a  melancholy  tune, 
As  if  it  dreamed  of  June, 
And  whispered  in  its  dream. 

The  thistles  show  beyond  the  brook 
Dust  on  their  down  and  bloom, 
And  out  of  many  a  weed-grown  nook 
The  aster  flowers  look 
With  eyes  of  tender  gloom. 

The  silent  orchard  aisles  are  sweet 
With  smell  of  ripening  fruit. 
Through  the  sere  grass,  in  shy  retreat 
Flutter,  at  coming  feet, 
The  robins  strange  and  mute. 

There  is  no  wind  to  stir  the  leaves, 
The  harsh  leaves  overhead; 
Only  the  querulous  cricket  grieves, 
And  shrilling  locust  weaves 
A  song  of  summer  dead. 

— William  Dean  Howells. 

ITH  many  of  Nature's  children,  life 
comes  to  its  close  with  the  success- 
ful accomplishment  of  its  sole  pur- 
pose for  them,  viz.,  reproduction, 
or  the  bearing  of  fruit  or  seed. 
This  done,  they  leave  their  "out- 
grown shell  by  life's  unresting  sea,"  willingly  sur- 


126  Twelve  Months  With 

rendering  up  their  temporal,  earthly  forms,  that 
the  divine  purpose  in  them  may  be  fulfilled. 
Verily,  everywhere  in  the  midst  of  life  there  is 
death. 

As  we  observe  the  course  of  Nature  through  the 
spring  and  summer  months,  with  the  regular  and 
immutable  order  of  birth,  growth  and  consumma- 
tion, we  are  impressed  with  the  indomitable  per- 
sistence of  this  all-pervading  and  all-powerful 
supreme  purpose  in  all  living  things.  Truly, 
"through  the  ages  one  increasing  purpose  runs." 
While,  therefore,  the  harvest  and  the  increase 
mean  decay  and  death,  they  also  mean  hope's  glo- 
rious fulfillment  and  life's  great  purposes  realized. 

In  August  the  birds  and,  indeed,  all  things  in 
Nature  seem  weary  and  spent  with  the  toil  and 
travail  of  life.  The  birds  drop  their  feathers  or 
change  their  brilliant  vernal  plumage  for  a  more 
sombre  dress,  the  flowers  fade,  the  foliage  withers, 
and  ripened  fruits  and  dry  seeds  replace  the  bright 
blooms  of  summer. 

There  is  something  very  beautiful  about  the 
devotion  of  the  birds  to  the  yearly  task  which 
Nature  has  set  for  them.  For  them,  indeed,  pro- 
creation does  not  mean  death  and  extinction,  as 
it  does  for  some  of  the  insects  and  lower  forms 
of  animal  life,  but  it  means  arduous  toil  each 
summer  through,  which  no  one  but  the  bird  stu- 
dent or  naturalist  really  understands.  With  few 
exceptions,  the  mating  begins  immediately  upon 
the  birds'  arrival  from  the  south  in  the  spring- 


The  Birds  and  Poets  127 

time,  and,  the  courtship  over,  the  serious  domestic 
life  begins,  and  in  most  cases  this  family  life,  with 
all  its  cares,  ends  only  with  the  ripened  fruit  and 
the  golden  leaves  of  autumn.  The  careless  observer 
is  accustomed  to  think  of  birds  as  wild,  care-free 
creatures  of  the  air,  with  little  to  do  but  soar  and 
sing, — but  he  who  has  looked  carefully  into  their 
habits  and  followed  them  through  the  seasons 
knows  full  well  that  when  the  frosts  come,  the 
little  feathered  creatures  have  earned  their  winter 
rest  in  the  feeding  grounds  of  the  south.  Many 
birds  rear  two,  three  and  sometimes  four  broods 
of  little  ones  in  a  season.  When  the  United  States 
Bureau  of  Biological  Survey  estimates  that  one 
brood  of  young  chipping  sparrows  will  consume 
238  insects  every  day,*  and  it  requires  on  an  average 
of  three  weeks  for  young  altrices  to  reach  the  self- 
supporting  state,  one  may  get  some  idea  of  the 
amount  of  actual  labor  involved  for  the  parents 
during  our  comparatively  brief  summer.  Is  it 
any  wonder  that  by  the  first  of  August  many  of 
them  lay  aside  their  feathers  and  forget  their 
songs? 

The  birds  in  this  latitude  come  north  for  a  home, 
and  go  south  for  food.  August  marks  the  begin- 
ning of  the  movement  southward,  and  by  this  time 
the  young  of  most  migrants  are  ready  for  the  long 
journey. 

As  early  as  the  first  days  of  July  a  number  of 
the  common  varieties  of  our  birds  gather  in  flocks 

*Biol.  Survey,  Bui.  15,  pp.  76-78. 


128  Twelve  Months  With 

and  wander  about  the  woods  and  fields,  feeding. 
This  early  flocking  habit  of  some  of  our  birds 
has  no  connection  with  migration.  After  the 
young  are  grown  and  able  to  help  themselves, 
the  young  and  old  travel  about  together  in  search 
of  food,  which  is  doubtless  made  necessary  by  the 
increased  number  of  birds,  and  the  comparative 
scarcity  of  food  in  particular  localities.  This 
flocking  habit  is  also  due  in  some  cases  to  the  fact 
that  many  birds,  such  as  crows,  grackles,  swal- 
lows, gulls,  etc.,  roost  every  night  in  large  numbers 
at  some  favorite  place  at  which  they  regularly 
congregate. 

I  wonder  if  Marjorie  Pickthall  noticed  this 
flocking  of  the  birds  to  a  common  roost  when 
she  wrote: 

"Oh  little  hearts,  beat  home,  beat  home, 

Here  is  no  place  to  rest. 
Night  darkens  on  the  falling  foam 

And  on  the  fading  west. 
Oh  little  wings,  beat  home,  beat  home, 

Love  may  no  longer  roam." 

This  tendency  to  gregariousness  is  especially 
noticeable  in  our  common  blackbirds, — the  bronze 
grackles  and  the  red-wings.  Early  in  July  a 
flock  of  perhaps  fifty  grackles  remained  about 
the  neighborhood  of  my  home  for  three  or  four 
days,  flying  about  in  the  trees  and  walking  through 
the  grass  in  stately,  dignified  fashion,  feeding  upon 
insects. 


The  Birds  and  Poets  129 

The  bronze  grackle,  or  common  crow  blackbird, 
is  a  handsome  creature.  He  never  runs  or  hops, 
but  walks  about  as  grave  and  dignified  as  a  judge. 
He  greatly  resembles  his  cousin,  the  purple 
grackle,  in  appearance.  Mr.  Ridgway  describes 
the  latter  as  "brassy  olive  or  bronze,"  his  neck  as 
"steel  blue,  violet,  purple  or  brassy  green,"  and 
his  wings  and  tail  as  "purplish  or  violet  purplish." 
Florence  Merriam  calls  him  the  "black  opal." 
Seen  in  the  shadow,  he  appears  no  more  beautiful 
than  the  crow,  but  when  the  sun's  rays  fall  directly 
upon  his  glossy  back  he  reveals  a  beauty  of  plumage 
almost  tropical  in  the  height  of  its  coloring  and  the 
brilliance  of  its  sheen.  "Tyrian  purple  is  not  like 
unto  the  splendor  of  his  dress." 

Mr.  Burroughs  says  of  his  song:  "The  air  is 
rilled  with  cracking,  splintering,  spurting,  semi- 
musical  sounds,  which  are  like  pepper  and  salt  to 
the  ear," — which  is  an  apt  description  of  the  late 
season  notes  of  either  the  grackle  or  the  red-wing. 

Lowell  offers  a  similar  description: 

"*     *     *     the  blackbirds  clattering  in  tall  trees, 
And  settlin'  things  in  windy  congresses." 

Early  this  month  I  observed  a  large  flock  of 
red-wings  gathering  in  a  grove  of  maples  in  the 
streets  of  a  small  village,  and  when  the  birds  had 
taken  possession  of  the  trees  a  saucy  blue  jay  who 
had  preempted  one  of  the  trees  was  greatly  dis- 
pleased. Invoking  his  well-known  powers  of 


130  Twelve  Months  With 

mimicry,  he  proceeded  to  make  the  "cracking, 
splintering,  spurting,  semi-musical  sounds"  which 
the  blackbirds  were  emitting  all  about  him,  as 
much  as  to  say:  "Those  discordant  notes  are  so 
common  and  easy  that  any  one  can  imitate  them!" 

Robins,  swallows,  jays,  swifts  and  sparrows  also 
gather  in  flocks  in  late  summer  or  early  autumn, 
sometimes  in  large  numbers.  Mr.  William  Brew- 
ster  records  that  he  has  seen  as  many  as  25,000 
robins  sleeping  together  in  one  roost.  Often  as 
early  as  June,  flocks  of  robins,  consisting  of  the 
young  of  the  first  brood  and  the  adult  males, 
may  be  seen  roosting  together,  the  females  being 
occupied  with  the  care  of  the  second  family. 

Mary  Howitt,  in  "Birds  in  Summer,"  notices 
this  summer  flocking  habit  of  the  birds: 

"They  have  left  their  nests  on  the  forest  bough; 
Those  homes  of  delight  they  need  not  now; 
And  the  young  and  the  old  they  wander  out, 
And  traverse  their  green  world  round  about; 
And  hark!  at  the  top  of  this  leafy  hall, 
How  one  to  the  other  in  love  they  call! 
'Come  up!    Come  up!'  they  seem  to  say, 
Where  the  topmost  twigs  in  the  breezes  sway." 

Like  the  hoarse  call  of  the  blackbird  to  which 
Tennyson  refers,  most  of  the  notes  of  our  common 
summer  residents  going  about  in  flocks  late  in  the 
season  are  coarse  and  broken,  with  little  of  the 
buoyant  beauty  and  rollicking  happiness  of  the 
spring  mating  songs.  Among  the  robins,  for 


The  Birds  and  Poets  131 

example,  one  will  hear  the  broken  attempts  of 
the  young  birds  learning  to  sing,  mingled  with 
the  listless,  spiritless  half-measured  refrains  of  the 
old  birds.  At  this  season  the  full  evening  hymn 
of  the  robin,  so  familiar  in  spring  and  early  sum- 
mer, is  never  heard.  Their  songs  are  now  at  a 
low  ebb: 

"The  pulse  that  flutters  faint  and  low 
When  summer's  seething  breezes  blow." 

Even  the  beloved  bobolinks  quit  singing  in  July, 
or  limit  themselves  to  a  few  unfamiliar  notes. 
These  delightful  birds  come  to  us  about  the  I5th 
of  May,  and  leave  again  for  the  rice  fields  of  the 
south,  on  their  way  to  Brazil,  about  August  10. 
It  is  not  at  all  remarkable  that  opinion  seems  to 
be  well-nigh  unanimous  that  the  bobolink  is  one 
of  our  most  charming  birds.  Any  comprehensive 
anthology  of  bobolink  poetry  would  in  itself  make 
a  volume  of  considerable  proportions.  Their  bril- 
liant black  plumage,  with  white  or  cream  buff 
patches,  the  gurgling  laughter  of  their  song,  and 
their  rollicking,  topsy-turvy  flight  make  up  a  group 
of  accomplishments  and  charms  of  which  few  of 
our  birds  may  boast.  The  fluttering  flight  over 
the  clover  blossoms  is  always  accompanied  by  the 
bubbling  song,  as  it  "runs  down,  a  brook  o'  laugh- 
ter through  the  air,"  as  Lowell  happily  expresses 
it.  And  after  witnessing  this  joyous  performance 


132  Twelve  Months  With 

we  feel  prompted  to  enquire  with  Helen  Hunt 
Jackson: 

"I  wonder  what  the  clover  thinks 
Intimate  friend  of  bobolinks?" 

Thoreau  gives  us  this  characteristic  description 
of  his  song:  "He  is  just  touching  the  strings  of 
his  theorbo,  his  glasschord,  his  water  organ,  and 
one  or  two  notes  globe  themselves  and  fall  in  liquid 
bubbles  from  his  tuning  throat.  It  is  as  if  he 
touched  his  harp  within  a  vase  of  liquid  melody, 
and  when  he  lifted  it  out  the  notes  fell  like  bubbles 
from  the  trembling  strings.  Methinks  they  are  the 
most  liquidly  sweet  and  melodious  sounds  I  ever 
heard." 

And  Thomas  Hill  gives  us  these  apt  lines: 

"A  single  note,  so  sweet  and  low, 
Like  a  full  heart's  overflow, 
Forms  the  prelude;  but  the  strain 
Gives  us  no  such  tone  again; 
For  the  wild  and  saucy  song 
Leaps  and  skips  the  notes  among 
With  such  quick  and  sportive  play, 
Ne'er  was  madder,  merrier  lay." 

Any  one  familiar  with  the  rapturous  song  of 
the  bobolink,  as  he  flutters  about  among  the  clover 
blossoms  and  teeters  himself  upon  the  meadow 
grass  and  swings  in  the  summer  wind,  will  con- 
fess to  the  accuracy  of  these  descriptions  of  his 


The  Birds  and  Poets  133 

flight  and  song.  During  the  mating  and  nesting 
season  he  is  one  of  the  most  hilariously  joyful  of 
our  summer  residents.  His  bubbling  song  is  so 
overflowing  with  rapture  that  his  trembling  flight 
over  the  clover  tops  seems  the  natural  result  of 
his  intense  emotions.  When  no  longer  able  to  con- 
tain himself,  he  drops  down  upon  a  clover  stem  or 
tuft  of  grass  and  finishes  his  song  on  a  more  stable 
footing  than  the  thin  air,  which  seems  to  be  an 
insufficient  support  for  a  bird  possessed  of  such 
delirious  ecstasy. 

It  is  very  unfortunate  that  so  fine  a  bird  with 
so  infectious  a  song  should  unwisely  select  rice 
as  a  favorite  article  of  food,  when  there  are  so 
many  weed  seeds  which  ought  to  be  quite  as 
attractive  a  diet.  By  the  first  of  September  most 
of  the  bobolinks  have  gone  to  the  southern  rice 
fields.  It  is  estimated  by  the  Department  of  Agri- 
culture that  they  annually  destroy  ten  per  cent  of 
the  rice  crop,  and  hence  they  are  unfortunately 
and  with  some  reason  considered  the  natural 
enemies  of  the  farmers,  and  large  numbers  of 
"rice  birds"  are  destroyed  every  autumn  by 
hunters. 

In  the  case  of  the  bobolink,  however,  Nature 
again  takes  care  of  her  own,  for  with  all  the 
slaughter  of  the  birds  on  their  southward  journey, 
they  are  such  successful  home  builders  that  there 
seems  to  be  no  appreciable  diminution  in  their 
numbers  from  year  to  year,  although  they  are  now 
less  plentiful  in  some  sections  of  New  England. 


134  Twelve  Months  With 

The  bobolinks  are  also  real  pioneers,  and  while 
now  less  numerous  along  the  Atlantic  coast,  they 
have  traveled  westward  in  greater  numbers,  even 
so  far  as  Nevada  and  Utah. 

The  bobolink's  nest  is  perhaps  more  securely 
hidden  than  the  nests  of  any  of  our  common  birds. 
It  is  always  placed  near  the  roots  of  deep  grass 
of  luxuriant  midsummer  growth,  usually  well  away 
from  the  margin  of  the  field,  with  nothing  to  mark 
or  trace  it  by  but  the  nodding  clover  blossoms 
or  timothy  tops,  which  are  legion,  and  which  all 
look  alike  to  one  in  quest  of  the  nest  It  seems 
that  in  many  cases  those  birds  whose  struggle  for 
existence  is  most  sharp  are  the  most  prolific,  or 
possess  in  the  highest  degree  the  art  of  concealing 
their  nests.  Such  birds  as  woodpeckers,  orioles 
and  birds  of  prey,  whose  life  struggle  is  less  keen 
by  reason  of  their  habits,  seldom  rear  more  than 
one  brood,  while  the  sparrows,  robins,  phoebes  and 
thrushes  frequently  have  two  or  three  families  of 
young  birds  during  the  summer.  Although  the 
bobolinks  seldom  if  ever  rear  more  than  one 
family  of  young  in  a  season,  and  although  large 
numbers  are  shot  by  hunters,  they  persist  and  con- 
tinue to  be  numerous,  because  of  their  unusual 
skill  in  concealing  their  nests. 

I  remember  an  experience  several  summers  ago 
which  illustrates  the  difficulties  which  confront 
one  in  endeavoring  to  locate  a  bobolink's  nest. 
I  was  spending  the  month  of  June  on  a  farm  in 
Southern  Michigan.  Every  morning  my  walk 


The  Birds  and  Poets  135 

took  me  past  a  clover  field  which  ran  up  to  the 
roadside,  with  no  intervening  fence.  I  had 
observed  a  pair  of  bobolinks  flying  out  of  the 
grass  at  almost  the  same  spot  every  morning  as 
I  passed  along  the  road,  and  on  one  or  two  occa- 
sions looked  about  in  the  clover,  in  a  superficial 
way,  but  found  no  signs  of  the  nest.  Continuing 
to  see  the  birds  at  the  same  point,  however,  and 
feeling  certain  that  the  nest  was  there,  I  resolved 
to  find  it  if  possible.  One  morning  after  a  heavy 
rain,  when  the  grass  was  beaten  down  by  the  storm, 
I  marked  off  an  area  about  forty  feet  square  in 
the  clover,  around  the  spot  where  I  had  so  often 
seen  the  birds,  and  in  which  I  felt  certain  the  nest 
would  be  found.  I  then  got  down  on  my  hands 
and  knees  and  crept  through  the  patch  of  clover, 
back  and  forth  over  the  area  I  had  set  apart  for 
the  search,  looking  into  every  clump  of  grass,  and 
covering  as  wide  a  strip  as  I  could  reach  while 
on  all  fours.  On  previous  occasions,  when  flush- 
ing the  birds  from  the  grass  as  I  passed,  although 
I  would  hurry  to  the  spot,  they  never  seemed  to 
fly  up  from  the  exact  location  of  the  nest,  which 
had  therefore  remained  a  mystery.  After  going 
over  most  of  this  area  on  my  knees,  feeling  almost 
every  blade  of  grass  with  my  hands,  I  at  last  found 
the  nest  tucked  in  quite  among  the  roots  of  the 
clover.  It  contained  five  dead  young  birds,  which 
had  evidently  been  drowned  by  the  storm  of  the 
previous  night. 

In  speaking  of  the  bobolink's  art  of  concealing 


136  Twelve  Months  With 

his  nest,  Mr.  Burroughs  says:  "If  I  were  a  bird, 
in  building  my  nest  I  should  follow  the  example 
of  the  bobolink,  placing  it  in  the  midst  of  a  broad 
meadow  where  there  was  no  spear  of  grass  or 
flower  or  growth  unlike  another  to  mark  its  site." 

His  thoughtless,  light-hearted,  devil-may-care 
spirit,  from  which  you  would  scarcely  suspect  the 
strategy  he  displays  in  secreting  his  nest,  is  inva- 
riably the  subject  of  the  poems  dedicated  to  him. 

For  example,  Alexander  McLachlan: 

"How  you  tumble  'mong  the  hay, 
Romping  all  the  summer's  day; 
Now  upon  the  wing  all  over 
In  and  out  among  the  clover — 
Far  too  happy  e'er  to  think — 
Bobolink!     Bobolink!" 

And  Lowell: 

"Meanwhile  that  devil-may-care,  the  bobolink, 
Remembering  duty,  in  mid-quaver  stops 
Just  ere  he  sweeps  o'er  rapture's  tremulous  brink, 
And  'twixt  the  winrows  most  demurely  drops, 
A  decorous  bird  of  business,  who  provides 
For  his  brown  mate  and  fledgings  six  besides, 
And  looks  from  right  to  left,  a  farmer  mid  his  crops." 

By  August  the  bobolinks  have  either  given  up 
their  songs,  or  their  few  notes  are  so  broken  and 
scattering  as  to  be  scarcely  recognizable,  and  before 
September  comes  they  have  all  departed  for  the 


The  Birds  and  Poets  137 

south,  to  be  seen  no  more  in  our  meadows  until 
May. 

Before  leaving,  the  male  puts  on  the  sombre, 
sparrow-like  coat  of  the  female,  and  the  young, 
following  the  usual  order  of  nature,  assume  a  garb 
similar  to  that  of  the  mother  bird.  When  starting 
south,  therefore,  the  bobolinks  are  all  dressed  very 
much  alike. 

The  bobolink  has  many  names  given  him  at  dif- 
ferent points  along  his  long  migration  route.  In 
the  Delaware,  Maryland  and  Virginia  rice  fields 
he  is  called  ricebird  and  reedbird.  When  he  stops 
off  for  a  while  in  Jamaica  in  October,  on  his  way 
down  to  the  head  waters  of  the  Paraguay  River, 
he  is  called  the  butterbird,  because  of  his  fatness, 
and  in  Florida,  where  he  arrives  in  April,  on  his 
way  north,  he  is  called  the  Maybird.  One  of  our 
common  names  for  him  is  skunk  blackbird. 

The  bobolink's  chief  companions  in  the  fields 
during  our  summer,  aside  from  the  sparrows,  are 
the  meadowlarks,  the  dickcissels  and  the  bob- 
whites.  While  the  bobwhites  may  be  heard 
whistling  in  the  wheat  fields  in  August,  the 
meadow  larks  and  dickcissels  are  mostly  silent. 

The  dickcissel,  sometimes  called  the  little 
meadowlark,  is  quite  common  in  our  meadows, 
and  may  often  be  seen  perched  upon  telephone 
wires,  fences,  shrubs  and  trees  bordering  country 
roads  and  lanes.  It  is  not  a  characteristic  August 
bird,  for  few,  if  any,  birds  could  be  called  char- 
acteristic of  this  late  summer  month. 


138  Twelve  Months  With 

They  are  the  most  numerous  and  the  most 
musical  about  the  first  of  June.  They  resemble 
in  appearance  a  small-sized  meadowlark,  as  they 
have  a  black  patch  on  the  throat  and  a  yellow 
breast,  and  back  streaked  with  black  and  pale 
grayish-brown.  Their  manner  of  flying,  however, 
is  wholly  different,  resembling  more  nearly  the 
irregular  flight  of  the  bobolink  than  the  regular 
alternate  flutter  and  soar  of  the  meadowlark.  They 
have  the  thick  bill  of  the  sparrow,  and  in 
immature  plumage  may  easily  be  mistaken  for  a 
female  bobolink  or  a  large  sparrow.  There  is 
one  sure  guide  to  its  identity,  however,  and  that 
is  its  song.  It  may  be  described  as  "Tsip!  Tsipf 
Tsee  tsee  tsee  .tsee!"  the  first  note  higher  than  the 
rest,  and  the  last  four  notes  running  off  almost 
into  a  trill. 

During  the  mating  and  nesting  season  this  song 
is  repeated  incessantly.  The  notes  have  a  distinct 
nasal  quality  and  are  earnestly  and  enthusiastically 
rendered,  time  and  again,  the  bird  throwing  its 
head  back  and  putting  its  whole  soul  into  the 
performance. 

While  the  first  nest  of  bobwhite  is  built  in  May, 
I  always  associate  him  with  the  wheat  fields  of 
July  and  August.  Indeed,  he  whistles  quite  as 
much  then  as  earlier  in  the  summer,  calling  to 
his  mate  and  to  the  large  family  of  chicks  they 
have  raised  during  the  summer. 

The  poets  have  shown  almost  as  much  fondness 
for  bobwhite  as  they  have  for  the  bobolink,  and 


The  Birds  and  Poets  139 

many  of  them  associate  him  with  the  harvest,  as 
Hamlin  Garland  in  his  poem,  "Wheat": 

"When  the  quail  whistles  loud  in  the  wheat  fields, 
That  are  yellow  with  ripening  grain." 

He  is  called  the  "siren  of  the  fields"  by  Marion 
Franklin  Ham: 

"Shrill  and  clear  from  coppice  near, 
A  song  within  the  woodland  ringing, 
A  treble  note  from  a  silver  throat 
The  siren  of  the  fields  is  singing — 

Bob-bob-white ! 

And  from  the  height  the  answer  sweet 
Floats  faintly  o'er  the  rippling  wheat — 

Bob-white !" 

I  once  came  upon  a  male  bobwhite  in  a  field 
of  wheat  stubble,  with  a  family  of  about  a  dozen 
little  ones,  and  before  I  could  look  twice  the  young 
birds  had  squatted  and  scurried  to  cover,  so  that 
not  a  single  one  of  them  was  to  be  seen. 

Trowbridge  truly  says: 

"Quickly  before  me  runs  the  quail, 
Her  chickens  skulk  behind  the  rail." 

This  wonderful  faculty  for  sudden  skulking  out 
of  sight  is  also  possessed  by  the  grouse.  The  parent 
bird,  after  giving  the  danger  signal  to  the  young, 
usually  flutters  along  the  ground,  with  one  or  both 
wings  dragging,  feigning  injury,  until  one  is  drawn 


140  Twelve  Months  With 

away  far  enough  to  give  the  brood  time  to  skulk, 
which  they  proceed  rapidly  to  do,  with  marvelous 
success. 

Quails  usually  raise  two  broods  of  twelve  or 
more  birds,  and  often  the  father  bird  conducts  the 
first  little  family  of  chicks  about  the  fields,  help- 
ing them  feed,  while  the  mother  lays  and  hatches 
the  second  set  of  eggs.  When  the  large  family, 
consisting  of  father,  mother  and  two  broods  of 
young,  go  about  in  August,  and  later  in  the  hunt- 
ing season,  they  are  numerous  enough  to  comprise 
the  covey  so  eagerly  sought  by  the  sportsman.  At 
night  the  family  squats  on  the  ground,  the 
younger  and  weaker  birds  in  the  center  and  the 
older  and  stronger  ones  around  the  outside, 
with  tails  to  the  center  and  heads  pointed  out- 
ward. 

Bobwhite  has  at  least  two  calls  in  addition  to 
his  well-known  whistle,  "Bob-bob-white/"  One 
"bob"  is  frequently  omitted,  and  sometimes  he 
contents  himself  with  a  clearly  whistled  "white." 
When  a  flock  of  quail  is  flushed  and  becomes  scat- 
tered about  in  the  grass,  if  one  quietly  waits  a  few 
moments  he  will  hear  them  calling  to  each  other 
with  three  soft,  cooing  notes  repeated  several  times, 
about  as  follows: 


with  a  little   liquid   gurgle  connecting  the  first 
two  notes.     By  this  means  they  learn  the  where- 


The  Birds  and  Poets  141 

abouts  of  the  scattered  company,  and  if  undisturbed 
will  soon  get  together  again.  Riley  refers  to  this 
call  of  bobwhite : 

"Watch     *     *     * 

the  bobwhites  raise  and  whiz 
Where  some  other's  whistle  is." 

The  same  poet,  with  a  native  accuracy  all  his 
own,  describes  the  peculiar  flight  of  the  bird: 

"And  the  sudden  whir  and  whistle 
Of  the  quail  that,  like  a  missile, 
Whizzes  over  thorn  and  thistle, 
And,  a  missile,  drops  again." 

The  whippoorwill,  another  favorite  of  the  poets, 
is  heard  sometimes  as  late  as  September,  although 
he  is  more  vocal  in  June  and  July.  He  reserves 
his  musical  performances  for  the  quiet  of  the 
night,  and  spends  his  days  in  bat-like  seclusion, 
perched,  unlike  other  birds,  along,  and  not  across, 
a  limb  or  fence  rail.  It  cannot  be  properly  said 
that  he  perches  at  all,  because  he  merely  squats 
down  flat  upon  his  daylight  rest,  sleepily  awaiting 
the  soft  rays  of  the  moon  to  awake  him  to  vocal 
ecstasies.  If  aroused  from  his  nap  during  the  day 
he  awkwardly  flops  about  through  the  trees  and 
brush,  and  suddenly  drops  down  among  the  leaves 
or  dead  logs,  where  the  similarity  of  his  dull 
plumage  affords  him  ample  protection  from  his 
enemies. 


142  Twelve  Months  With 

Awakened  one  summer  night,  I  heard  the 
whistle  of  a  whippoorwill,  and  after  I  began 
counting  it  repeated  the  call  327  times.  It  then 
paused  a  moment,  evidently  for  breath,  and  pres- 
ently resumed  with  as  much  apparent  zest  as 
before.  Mr.  Burroughs  relates  a  similar  expe- 
rience, where  even  a  much  larger  number  of 
calls  were  given  in  rapid  succession,  without 
intermission. 

"*     *     *     Weirdly  sounds  the  whippoorwill's  wild 

rhyme, 
These  nights  of  summer  time." 

A  Canadian  poet,  Edward  Burrough  Brownlow, 
has  written  one  of  the  prettiest  poems  to  this 
quaint  bird: 

"When  early  shades  of  evening's  close 
The  air  with  solemn  darkness  fill, 
Before  the  moonlight  softly  throws 
Its  fairy  mantle  o'er  the  hill, 

A  sad  sound  goes 

In  plaintive  trill; 

Who  hears  it  knows 

The  Whip-poor-will. 


Repeated  oft,  it  never  grows 
Familiar,  but  is  sadder  still, 
As  though  a  spirit  sought  repose 
From  some  pursuing,  endless  ill. 


The  Birds  and  Poets  143 

The  sad  sound  goes 
In  plaintive  trill; 
Who  hears  it  knows 
The  Whip-poor-will." 

The  latter  days  of  August  bring  renewed  joy 
and  enthusiasm  for  the  bird  lover,  for  before  the 
first  of  September  some  of  his  many  friends  who 
went  to  their  northern  homes  in  the  spring  are 
back  again  on  their  return  journey  to  the  south, 
and,  except  for  the  joyous  springtime,  no  season 
holds  more  of  happiness  for  him. 


SEPTEMBER. 

Sweet  is  the  voice  that  calls 

From  babbling  waterfalls 
In  meadows  where  the  downy  seeds  are  flying; 

And  soft  the  breezes  blow, 

And  eddying  come  and  go, 
In  faded  gardens  where  the  rose  is  dying. 

Among  the  stubbled  corn 

The  blithe  quail  pipes  at  morn, 
The  merry  partridge  drums  in  hidden  places; 

And  glittering  insects  gleam 

Above  the  reedy  stream, 
Where  busy  spiders  spin  their  filmy  laces. 

Ah,  soon  on  field  and  hill 

The  wind  shall  whistle  chill, 
And  patriarch  swallows  call  their  flocks  together,. 

To  fly  from  frost  and  snow, 

And  seek  for  lands  where  blow 
The  fairer  blossoms  of  a  balmier  weather. 

— George  Arnold. 

HILE  a  few  of  our  birds  depart  for 
the  south  as  early  as  July,  Septem- 
ber may  properly  be  called  the 
favorite  month  for  southward  bird 
travel.  Under  the  harvest  moon, 
millions  of  warblers,  vireos,  fly- 
catchers, sparrows  and  thrushes,  seeking  the  pro- 
tection of  the  night  shadows,  come  out  of  the  north 


146  Twelve  Months  With 

and  pass  on  to  their  winter  homes  in  south  tem- 
perate and  tropic  latitudes.  Also  during  the  day 
many  of  the  more  hardy  species,  including  the  birds 
of  prey,  may  be  seen  passing  overhead  upon  their 
long  journey. 

Mr.  P.  McArthur  has  dedicated  a  poem  to  the 
autumn  migration  of  the  birds,  from  which  I 
quote  these  lines: 

"From  streams  no  oar  hath  rippled 

And  lakes  that  waft  no  sail, 
From  reaches  vast  and  lonely 

That  know  no  hunter's  trail, 
The  clamor  of  their  calling 

And  the  whistling  of  their  flight, 
Fill  all  the  day  with  marvel, 

And  with  mystery  the  night." 

September,  with  its  returning  hosts  from  the 
north,  while  it  brings  joy  to  the  heart  of  the  bird 
lover,  also  brings  its  touch  of  sadness,  for  when 
its  days  are  gone  many  of  the  summer  residents 
have  gone  also,  to  return  no  more  until  spring. 

But  as  they  go  we  recall  these  reassuring  lines 
from  Mrs.  Sangster: 

"They'll  come  again  to  the  apple  tree, — 

Robin:  and  all  the  rest, — 
When  the  orchard  branches  are  fair  to  see 

In  the  snow  of  blossoms  dressed, 
And  the  prettiest  thing  in  the  world  will  be 

Th'e  building  of  the  nest." 


The  Birds  and  Poets  147 

As  we  have  elsewhere  observed,  by  far  the  larger 
number  of  birds  migrate  at  night.  These  include 
the  shore  birds,  thrushes,  woodcock,  warblers, 
vireos,  sparrows,  tanagers  and  flycatchers,  and 
those  birds  of  timid  and  retiring  habits  that  are 
less  able  to  protect  themselves  against  the  hazards 
of  long  flights  by  day,  when  they  would  be  exposed 
to  the  attacks  of  hawks  and  other  enemies.  In 
their  nesting  haunts  during  the  summer  these 
birds  find  little  difficulty  in  protecting  themselves, 
among  the  thick  summer  foliage,  against  most  of 
their  natural  enemies,  but  in  migrating  the  birds, 
of  course,  ascend  far  above  the  protecting  trees 
and  shrubs,  and  it  seems  to  be  their  fear  of  attack 
which  has  led  them  to  await  the  cover  of  darkness 
for  their  journey.  Longfellow  refers  to  these 
night  travels  in  his  "Birds  of  Passage": 

"But  the  night  is  fair, 
And  everywhere 

A  warm,  soft  vapor  fills  the  air, 
And  distant  sounds  seem  near: 

And  above,  in  the  light 
Of  the  starlit  night, 

Swift  birds  of  passage  wing  their  flight 
Through  the  dewy  atmosphere. 

I  hear  the  beat 
Of  their  pinions  fleet, 
As  from  the  land  of  snow  and  sleet 
They  seek  a  southern  lea. 


148  Twelve  Months  With 

I  hear  the  cry 
Of  their  voices  high 
Falling  dreamily  through  the  sky, 
But  their  forms  I  cannot  see." 

And  Cale  Young  Rice,  in  his  epigram,  "Lost" : 

"The  wild  duck  finds  her  way 
Even  at  night: 
Yet  I  cannot  by  day." 

During  the  early  part  of  this  month,  when  the 
harvest  moon  was  at  its  full,  I  one  evening  visited 
the  top  of  a  high  building  in  Chicago,  and  from 
twelve  o'clock  midnight  until  two  o'clock  A.  M. 
observed  myriads  of  birds  like  tiny  specks  crossing 
the  face  of  the  moon,  and  many  passed  so  near  that 
their  twitter  and  the  noise  of  their  wings  was 
distinctly  audible.  At  the  height  of  the  migra- 
tion season,  either  in  the  spring  or  fall,  when  the 
moon  is  full  and  the  weather  favorable,  one  may 
easily  see,  with  the  aid  of  a  small  telescope,  many 
birds  cross  the  face  of  the  moon.  Dr.  Frank  M. 
Chapman  relates  some  interesting  experiments  of 
this  kind  in  which  he  timed  the  birds  passing  the 
moon,  that  he  might  estimate  the  height  at  which 
they  were  traveling.  Some  consumed  three  min- 
utes in  passing,  indicating  that  they  were  flying 
at  a  very  great  height. 

Among  the  day  flyers  are  many  of  the  birds 
that  roost  at  night  in  flocks,  such  as  crows,  swal- 
lows, chimney  swifts,  grackles,  robins  and  jays. 


The  Birds  and  Poets  149 

Bluebirds,  snow  buntings  and  humming  birds  also 
migrate  by  day.  Ducks,  gulls,  geese,  plover  and 
snipe  travel  by  night  or  by  day,  as  the  fancy  moves 
them,  depending  largely  upon  weather  conditions 
and  the  opportunities  for  feeding. 

The  tiny  humming  bird,  traveling  by  day,  all 
the  way  from  northern  United  States  to  Central 
America,  is  one  of  the  many  wonders  of  migration. 
This  little  flash  of  tropic  color  is  so  small  that  he 
often  shelters  his  tiny  lichen-covered  nest  under  a 
single  leaf,  and  yet  when  autumn  comes  he  boldly 
darts  away  to  his  winter  home,  thousands  of  miles 
distant,  through 

"The  desert  and  illimitable  air — 
Lone  wandering  but  not  lost" 

Buffbn  in  his  "Natural  History"  gives  the 
following  exquisite  description  of  the  humming 
bird: 

"Of  all  animated  beings  this  is  the  most  elegant  in 
form  and  the  most  brilliant  in  colors.  The  stones  and 
metals  polished  by  our  arts  are  not  comparable  to  this 
jewel  of  Nature.  She  has  placed  it  least  in  size  of 
the  order  of  birds,  maxime  miranda  in  minimis.  Her 
master  piece  is  the  little  humming-bird,  and  upon  it  she 
has  heaped  all  the  gifts  which  the  other  birds  may 
only  share.  Lightness,  rapidity,  nimbleness,  grace,  and 
rich  apparel  all  belong  to  this  little  favorite.  The 
emerald,  the  ruby  and  the  topaz  gleam  upon  its  dress. 
It  never  soils  them  with  the  dust  of  earth,  and  in  its 


150  Twelve  Months  With 

aerial  life  scarcely  touches  the  turf  an  instant.  Always 
in  the  air,  flying  from  flower  to  flower,  it  has  their 
freshness  as  well  as  their  brightness.  It  lives  upon 
their  nectar,  and  dwells  only  in  the  climates  where 
they  perennially  bloom." 

As  we  have  elsewhere  observed,  this  little  bird 
is  singularly  unafraid  of  man,  and  when  feeding 
seems  entirely  to  ignore  his  presence.  One  cool 
day  in  late  August  I  had  gone  out  on  the  lawn 
and  seated  myself  in  the  sun,  to  read.  At  my  feet 
some  vines  climbed  over  a  pergola,  among  them 
a  scarlet  runner,  whose  blossoms  hung  around  my 
book,  not  more  than  six  inches  from  my  knees. 
Suddenly  a  ruby-throat  flashed  out  of  the  blue 
and  hung  in  the  air  before  one  of  the  scarlet  blos- 
soms, thrust  his  slender  bill  far  into  the  calyx  and 
daintily  sipped  its  nectar.  He  then  darted  to  other 
flowers  in  rapid  succession,  as  tho'  he  were  fear- 
ful some  one  would  rob  him  of  his  treasure.  He 
was  so  near  me  I  could  have  reached  him  with 
my  hand,  but  he  appeared  no  more  concerned 
about  me  than  if  I  had  been  a  part  of  the  natural 
scene  about  him.  While  draining  the  honey  from 
one  of  the  tiny  flowers  he  suddenly  discovered 
that  he  was  suspended  immediately  above  a  small 
twig  of  the  vine,  and  as  suddenly  dropped  his  little 
feet  upon  it  and  perched  there  until  he  had  robbed 
the  little  cup  of  its  sweets,  when  he  darted  away 
and  was  lost  to  view,  leaving  me  wondering 
whether  this  was  the  visit  of  a  real  bird  or  some 


The  Birds  and  Poets  151 

brilliant  fairy  sporting  in  the  summer  sunshine. 
The  humming  bird  is  a  solitary,  spirit-like,  song- 
less  bird,  and  little  is  known  about  its  migratory 
habits. 

"Thine  is  the  nested  silence,  and  the  hush 
That  needs  no  song." 

The  orchard  oriole  and  the  American  redstart 
are  the  first  of  our  birds  to  leave  for  the  south. 

The  orchard  oriole,  while  formerly  common,  is 
now  a  rather  uncommon  summer  resident,  and 
unfortunately  it  makes  probably  the  shortest  stay 
at  its  nesting  site  of  any  of  our  birds.  It  arrives 
early  in  May  and  leaves  about  the  middle  of  July, 
thus  spending  but  two  and  one-half  of  the  twelve 
months  of  the  year  with  us. 

The  orchard  oriole,  as  his  name  implies,  is  fond 
of  fruit  trees  and  orchards.  He  has  not  the  bril- 
liant feathers  of  his  cousin,  the  Baltimore,  but  he 
is  a  bird  of  the  greatest  refinement,  both  in  song 
and  plumage.  His  coat  is  black  and  chestnut, — 
black  head,  neck,  throat  and  upper  back,  and  chest- 
nut under  parts  and  lower  back.  He  is  a  dis- 
tinguished songster,  with  an  unusually  rich  and 
flexible  voice  which  he  uses  with  rare  skill  and 
expression.  It  is  impossible  to  describe  his  song  in 
words,  but  once  heard  by  any  lover  of  bird  music, 
the  bird  will  be  sought  out,  and  once  seen  he  will 
not  soon  be  forgotten. 

The    redstart   also   leaves   all   too   early.      He 


152  Twelve  Months  With 

departs  as  soon  as  his  little  family  have  learned  the 
art  of  flying,  usually  the  latter  part  of  July.  Many 
of  them  nesting  to  the  north  of  us,  however,  may  be 
seen  in  the  woods  during  their  migration  as  late  as 
the  first  of  October. 

This  brilliantly  colored  little  inhabitant  of  the 
woodlands  is  well  named  the  "redstart"  for  he  is 
one  of  the  most  animated  and  active  of  all  the 
warblers.  As  he  flits  about  among  the  leaves  at  the 
edge  of  the  woods,  or  in  small  patches  of  brush, 
he  seems  to  stop  merely  that  he  may  start  again,— 
a  salmon  flash  among  the  green.  In  Cuba  the 
redstart's  bright  plumage  has  won  for  him  the 
name  "Candelita," — the  little  candle  that  flutters 
in  the  depths  of  the  tropical  forest.  The  entire 
upper  parts,  and  the  throat  and  breast  of  the  male 
are  shining  black,  the  wings  and  tail  are  margined 
with  salmon,  and  the  sides  of  the  breast  and  flanks 
are  deep  reddish  salmon.  Even  in  Juvenal  plum- 
age the  redstart  is  easily  identified,  for  although 
the  salmon  is  then  frequently  replaced  by  yellow  or 
creamy  white,  the  little  bird  has  a  very  character- 
istic habit  of  almost  constantly  fluffing  and  half 
spreading  his  wings  and  tail,  making  his  colors 
very  conspicuous.  Dr.  Chapman  gives  him  a  very 
comprehensive  description  in  a  few  words: 

"Ching,  Ching,  Ghee;  ser-ivee,  swee,  swee-e-e  he 
sings,  and  with  wings  and  tail  outspread  whirls 
about,  dancing  from  limb  to  limb,  darting  upward, 
floating  downward,  blown  hither  and  thither  like  a 
leaf  in  the  breeze.  But  the  gnats  dancing  in  the 


The  Birds  and  Poets  153 

sunlight  and  the  caterpillars  feeding  in  the  shade 
of  the  leaves  know  to  their  sorrow  that  his  erratic 
course  is  guided  by  a  purpose."  * 

Inasmuch  as  both  the  orchard  oriole  and  the  red- 
start are  summer  residents  in  this  latitude,  they  are 
not  to  be  considered  among  our  true  migrants, 
although  they  migrate  southward  every  summer 
and  northward  again  to  their  breeding  sites  in  the 
spring. 

Among  the  most  abundant  of  the  true  migrants, 
nesting  north  of  this  latitude,  and  observed  going 
south  in  September,  may  be  mentioned  the 
thrushes,  warblers,  white-throated,  white-crowned, 
and  fox  sparrows,  juncos,  kinglets  and  nuthatches. 
This  is  by  no  means  an  inclusive  list  of  our  com- 
mon September  migrants,  but  during  this  month 
one  will  seldom  walk  into  the  woods  and  fields 
without  seeing  many  of  the  birds  mentioned.  One 
morning  during  the  last  week  of  September  I 
observed  on  my  back  lawn  and  within  fifty  feet  of 
my  back  porch  a  large  number  of  white- throated 
sparrows  scratching  about  in  the  dead  weeds  and 
grass,  a  flock  of  slate-colored  juncos,  also  very  busy 
among  the  fallen  leaves,  a  brown  creeper,  a  red- 
breasted  nuthatch,  a  gray-cheeked  thrush,  a  black- 
throated  green  warbler,  and  a  golden-crowned 
kinglet,  all  of  which  are  September  migrants.  My 
yard  is  perhaps  not  above  the  average  in  attractive- 
ness to  the  birds  traveling  southward,  and  similar 
observations  may  be  made  almost  any  morning  in 

*  Birds  of  Eastern  North  America,  p.  375. 


154  Twelve  Months  With 

September  or  early  October,  about  any  country  or 
suburban  home.  In  the  early  morning  these  little 
birds  will  be  found  very  busily  engaged  in  feeding, 
for  many  of  them  have  been  journeying  far  by 
night,  and  their  tiny  engines  are  much  in  need  of 
fuel  to  carry  them  over  the  next  lap  of  the  long 
journey.  The  birds  mentioned  make  but  little 
noise  as  they  flit  about  in  the  trees  or  grass,  save  for 
an  occasional  "chip!"  or  call  note.  Because  of 
their  preoccupation  in  the  arduous  business  of 
feeding,  the  opportunities  for  observing  them  are 
usually  very  favorable.  Knowing  they  must  be 
here  at  this  season  the  bird  student  will  almost 
invariably  be  rewarded  for  his  pains,  if  he  will  but 
go  to  their  usual  feeding  places  and  seek  them  out. 
.  I  have  seen  literally  thousands  of  slate-colored 
juncos  this  month  scattered  about  everywhere,  in 
trees,  shrubs  and  grass,  and  this  year  (1916)  is  no 
exception  to  the  rule  as  to  the  number  of  these 
hardy  little  migrants.  These  birds  are  always  seen 
in  flocks,  except  when  breeding  in  the  north,  and 
may  be  easily  identified  by  their  slate-colored 
backs,  dark  heads  and  white  outer  tail  feathers  so 
conspicuous  in  flight,  and  the  flesh  colored  bill. 
When  disturbed  they  quickly  make  known  their 
displeasure  by  a  sharp  "check!  check!"  almost 
staccato  in  quality,  but  when  unmolested  one  more 
often  hears  a  rapidly  uttered  " chew-chew-cheiv," 
indicating  a  very  evident  satisfaction  with  the  won- 
derful feeding  grounds  which  they  find  here  on 
their  way  south.  This  little  bird  has  little  individ- 


The  Birds  and  Poets  155 

uality,  and  no  striking  characteristics  which  mark 
it  as  peculiar  in  any  way  from  the  rest  of  the  feath- 
ered kingdom,  either  as  to  song,  plumage  or  habits. 
Arriving  in  late  September,  they  stay  with  us  until 
the  extreme  cold  weather  comes,  and  inasmuch  as 
they  return  again  as  early  as  February,  cheering  us 
with  their  company  through  several  long  weeks 
when  "woods  are  bare  and  birds  are  flown,"  it  is 
only  natural  that  they  should  occupy  a  large  place 
in  our  affections,  though  their  dress  is  plain,  and 
their  song  is  seldom  heard.  A  few  of  these  juncos 
remain  with  us  during  the  more  open  winters  and 
will  usually  be  found  in  company  with  snow  birds 
and  winter  sparrows. 

Mr.  Edward  Clark  relates  an  experience  with 
juncos  in  Lincoln  Park,  some  years  ago,  which 
demonstrates  the  unfortunate  ignorance  of  chil- 
dren with  reference  to  our  common  birds.  One 
day  in  November  he  observed  a  large  flock  of 
juncos  scattered  about  in  the  grass  in  one  of  the 
open  spaces  in  the  Park  used  as  a  play  ground. 
About  a  hundred  students  from  the  grammar 
schools  had  congregated  to  witness  a  foot  ball 
game,  and  although  the  juncos  were  all  about  them, 
none  of  the  children  seemed  to  notice  them.  Upon 
calling  their  attention  to  the  birds,  he  enquired  of 
one  child  after  another  what  the  birds  were,  and 
most  of  them  did  not  pretend  to  know,  and  those 
who  did  hazard  a  guess,  called  them  sparrows, 
although  the  only  possible  resemblance  between  a 
junco  and  a  sparrow  is  that  of  size. 


156  Twelve  Months  With 

Happily  the  schools  of  late  years  are  doing  much 
to  increase  the  knowledge  and  interest  of  the  stu- 
dents in  our  common  birds,  which  also  means  a 
large  reduction  in  the  number  of  birds  wantonly 
slaughtered  by  boys  with  sling  shot  and  air  gun. 

The  beautiful  white-throated  and  white-crowned 
sparrows,  the  aristocrats  of  the  sparrow  family, 
have  elsewhere  received  our  homage  and  praise. 
A  friend  once  came  to  me  with  a  description  of  the 
white-throated  sparrow  which  he  called  the 
"wheelbarrow  bird,"  because,  he  said,  its  whistle 
resembled  the  squeak  of  a  wheelbarrow  long 
unfamiliar  with  axle  grease  or  other  squeak  elimi- 
nating lubricant.  The  low  whistle  of  this  hand- 
some sparrow  is  not  wholly  unlike  the  squeak  of  a 
dry  wheel,  but  when  heard  at  close  range  it  is  clear, 
beautiful  and  flute-like,  although  usually  more 
timid  and  hesitating  than  its  mating  song  in  the 
north  woods.  Mr.  A.  West  in  his  poem  to  this 
bird  calls  him  the  "Northern  Nightingale": 

"Hark!  'tis  our  Northern  Nightingale  that  sings 
In  far-off,  leafy  cloisters,  dark  and  cool, 
Flinging  his  flute-notes  bounding  from  the  skies! 

Thou  wild  musician  of  the  mountain-streams, 
Most  tuneful  minstrel  of  the  forest-choirs, 
Bird  of  all  grace  and  harmony  of  soul, 
Unseen,  we  hail  thee  for  thy  blissful  voice!" 

The  fox  sparrow,  one  of  the  most  beautiful  of 
his  large  family,  is  also  an  abundant  migrant.  He 


The  Birds  and  Poets  157 

is  readily  distinguishable  by  his  large  size  and 
bright  rufous  tail  and  brown  back.  He  is  often 
found  with  small  parties  of  juncos,  and  prefers  the 
hedgerows  and  meadow  thickets.  His  song  is  not 
surpassed  by  that  of  any  of  our  sparrows. 
Although  it  is  said  that  he  seldom  sings  in  this  lati- 
tude, I  have  not  infrequently  heard  his  beautiful 
song  during  the  spring  migration.  Mr.  Eugene  P. 
Bicknell  describes  it  as  "an  emotional  outburst 
rising  full-toned  and  clear,  and  passing  all  too 
quickly  to  a  closing  cadence,  which  seems  to  linger 
in  the  silent  air." 

The  kinglets  are  appropriately  named,  because 
both  the  golden  and  ruby-crowned  are  little  kings 
in  their  own  right,  with  brilliant  crowns  upon  their 
tiny  heads.  The  golden-crowned  kinglet  may  be 
distinguished  from  his  cousin  by  his  uniformly 
lighter  plumage,  and  the  white  line  over  the  eye, 
and  his  smaller  size.  Both  are  extremely  small, 
however,  the  golden-crown  measuring  about  four 
inches  from  the  tip  of  his  bill  to  the  end  of  his  tail, 
and  the  ruby-crown  being  less  than  one-half  inch 
longer.  The  kinglets  are  the  smallest  of  our  birds, 
with  the  single  exception  of  the  humming  bird, 
which  measures  about  three  and  one-half  inches. 
The  kinglets  look  considerably  larger  than  the 
ruby-throat,  because  their  bodies  are  thick  and 
chubby.  Except  for  the  unusually  long  bill  of  the 
humming  bird,  it  would  not  measure  over  three 
inches,  whereas  the  bill  of  both  the  kinglets  is  short 
and  stubby.  The  kinglets'  plumage  is  olive  green 


158  Twelve  Months  With 

on  the  back,  and  the  ruby-crown  has  two  whitish 
wing  bars,  with  a  partly  concealed  bright  red  crest 
in  the  midde  of  the  crown.  This  red  crest  is 
scarcely  discernible,  except  when  the  little  bird 
tips  his  head  toward  the  observer  and  the  color  is 
caught  in  the  rays  of  the  sun,  when  it  flashes  out 
with  great  brilliance  and  beauty.  This  crown 
patch  is  absent  with  the  female  and  immature 
birds.  In  the  center  of  the  crown  of  the  golden- 
crown  is  a  bright  reddish  orange  patch  bordered 
by  yellow  and  black,  which  in  the  male  is  quite 
conspicuous.  These  delightful  little  birds  are  very 
friendly  and  unafraid,  as  they  hop  around  the  tree 
trunks  and  lower  branches  feeding  upon  micro- 
scopic insects.  These  tiny  balls  of  feathers  are 
occasionally  seen  in  this  latitude  throughout  the 
winter,  which  is  living  evidence  that,  given  an 
abundance  of  food,  temperature  is  a  secondary  fac- 
tor in  a  bird's  existence.  The  golden-crown  may 
often  be  heard  singing  during  the  spring  migra- 
tion. 

Among  the  nuthatches,  the  white-breasted  and 
the  red-breasted  are  both  common  migrants,  and 
according  to  my  own  observations  the  latter  is  the 
more  abundant.  The  former  is  also  a  not  uncom- 
mon summer  resident,  in  the  latitude  of  Northern 
Illinois  or  Southern  Michigan.  Few  birds  are  eas- 
ier to  identify  than  the  nuthatches.  Running  up 
and  down  the  tree  trunks  they  assume  attitudes  no 
other  bird  would  attempt  and  they  accompany 
these  acrobatic  feats  with  a  loud  nasal  "yank. 


The  Birds  and  Poets  159 

yank"  which  usually  tells  us  of  their  presence 
before  we  see  them.  No  other  bird  makes  the  same 
noise,  and  once  it  is  heard  the  bird  may  be  easily 
located  and  observed  indefinitely  for  he  is  usually 
too  much  interested  in  his  own  business  of  feeding 
on  small  insects  to  pay  any  particular  attention  to 
any  observer.  The  nuthatch  character  seems 
wholly  devoid  of  all  sentiment,  and  yet  with  all  his 
matter-of-fact  ways,  the  white-breast  cannot  with- 
stand the  surging  influences  of  spring,  and  at  this 
season  he  raises  his  voice  in  a  peculiar  monotone 
which  Dr.  Chapman  describes  as  "a  tenor  hah-hah- 
hah-hah-hah,  sounding  like  mirthless  laughter." 

As  for  the  thrushes,  if  one  will  but  go  to  the  quiet 
woods  in  early  September  and  sit  for  a  few 
moments  among  the  underbrush  which  they  so 
greatly  love,  he  is  more  than  likely  to  see  two  or 
three  varieties  stealthily  hopping  about  and  shyly 
peeping  out  from  the  protecting  foliage.  Among 
the  more  or  less  common  migrants  may  be  men- 
tioned the  willow,  the  gray-cheeked,  the  olive- 
backed,  the  Wilson's  or  veery  and  the  hermit. 
The  first  three  named  are  quite  similar  in  general 
appearance,  the  colors  of  their  plumage  running 
more  into  the  grays,  drabs,  and  olive,  but  the  her- 
mit is  easily  distinguished  by  his  bright  brown  tail, 
and  the  veery  is  more  uniformly  cinnamon  brown. 
Accurate  identification  of  the  other  varieties  is  not 
always  easy,  even  with  the  aid  of  the  most  helpful 
bird  books,  unless  the  bird  is  shot, — and  as  for  me 
I  would  rather  be  possessed  of  doubts  than  possess 


160  Twelve  Months  With 

a  dead  thrush!  The  aim  of  all  real  bird  lovers 
should  be  to  realize  the  ideal  of  Emerson,  which 
prompted  him  to  enquire:  "Hast  thou  named  all 
the  birds  without  a  gun?" 

As  to  the  vast  army  of  warblers  which  come 
back  to  us  in  September,  they  are  the  same  little 
wood  sprites  which  rejoiced  our  days  in  May  and 
June,  and  the  more  common  ones  which  may  be 
seen  in  this  latitude  have  already  been  mentioned. 
It  should  be  noted,  however,  that  some  migrants 
have  a  different  route  in  the  fall  from  that  trav- 
elled in  the  spring,  and  this  is  true  with  reference 
to  one,  at  least,  of  the  warblers,  viz.,  the  Connecti- 
cut warbler.  This  little  bird  migrates  northward 
in  the  spring,  up  the  Mississippi  Valley,  and  south- 
ward in  the  fall  along  the  Atlantic  coast  except 
that  a  few  have  been  observed  in  autumn  in  the 
area  surrounding  Chicago.  This  species  is  a  not 
uncommon  spring  migrant,  but  like  the  retiring 
mourning  warbler,  it  is  not  generally  known  as  a 
frequent  visitor  because  it  is  a  shy  little  bird  and  is 
seldom  found  except  in  the  bushy  swamps  and 
heavy  underbrush,  where  it  is  easily  overlooked. 

The  warblers,  at  all  times  more  or  less  puzzling 
to  the  bird  student  because  of  their  diminutive  size 
and  their  habit  of  hiding  in  the  dense  foliage  of  the 
trees,  are  still  more  difficult  to  identify  accurately 
during  the  autumn  migration  because  of  the  many 
birds  in  Juvenal  plumage,  and  because  of  the  molt- 
ing of  the  old  birds,  resulting  in  marked  changes 
in  appearance. 


The  Birds  and  Poets  161 

The  molting  process  of  the  birds  after  the  nest- 
ing season  is  most  interesting.  Of  course  if  the 
bird  suddenly  lost  all  its  feathers,  and  then  was 
required  to  await  the  slow  growth  of  new  plumage, 
it  would  not  only  suffer  great  inconvenience  and 
hardship  on  account  of  weather  conditions,  but  its 
power  of  flight  would  be  entirely  lost,  and  it  would 
fall  an  easy  prey  to  its  enemies.  Among  the  flyers, 
therefore,  nature  has  wisely  provided  that  the 
molting  shall  proceed  slowly  and  with  regularity. 
One  feather  in  each  wing  is  dropped  at  about  the 
same  time,  so  that  the  bird's  equilibrium  may  not 
be  disturbed,  and  when  these  two  feathers  are  par- 
tially replaced  by  new  ones  another  feather  in  each 
wing,  in  exactly  the  same  relative  position,  is 
dropped,  and  these  again  replaced,  and  so  on  until 
the  whole  process  is  completed,  with  the  result  that 
at  no  time  is  the  bird  lacking  more  than  two  full 
wing  feathers,  and  there  is  no  impairment  in  flying 
ability.  The  most  remarkable  transformation 
wrought  in  the  plumage  of  any  of  our  common 
birds  by  molting  is  in  the  case  of  the  male  scarlet 
tanager,  who,  after  rearing  his  young,  changes  his 
beautiful  scarlet  coat  for  one  of  olive  green,  with 
only  his  black  wings  and  tail  to  distinguish  him 
from  his  mate. 

Among  the  shore  birds,  the  golden  plover  has 
a  different  migration  route  for  fall  and  spring, 
travelling  up  the  Mississippi  Valley  in  the  Spring, 
and  in  the  fall  going  south  from  Labrador  and 
Nova  Scotia,  across  the  Atlantic  to  South  America. 


162  Twelve  Months  With 

Like  the  woodchuck  that  lives  upon  its  own  fat  in 
winter,  water  and  shore  birds,  making  long  over- 
sea trips,  live  largely  upon  the  fat  with  which  their 
bodies  are  stored  in  the  rich  feeding  grounds  of 
the  north.  The  American  golden  plover  travels 
slowly  across  the  continent  from  Alaska  to  Labra- 
dor, feeding  all  the  way,  and  by  the  time  it  is  ready 
for  its  2500  mile  journey  over  sea  to  the  south,  it 
is  stocked  with  fuel  fat,  sufficient  for  its  long  jour- 
ney. 

A  friend  who  has  hunted  the  Pacific  golden 
plover  in  the  Hawaiian  Islands  in  the  late  fall, 
tells  me  that  when  they  arrive  there  they  are  poor 
and  thin,  but  that  within  a  few  days  after  their 
arrival  they  have  regained  their  normal  amount  of 
fat.  The  American  golden  plover  is  sometimes 
seen  in  Illinois  and  Indiana  in  the  fall,  but  its 
course  of  travel  at  this  season  is  eastward  and  not 
south,  for  they  migrate  southward  only  from  the 
northeastern  coast  of  the  United  States. 

There  are  various  methods  employed  by  the  dif- 
ferent birds  in  travelling  to  their  winter  homes  in 
the  south.  Some  travel  very  rapidly,  and  cover 
immense  distances  in  a  very  short  period  of  time. 
Others  travel  slowly,  and  interrupt  their  trip  with 
more  or  less  frequent  stops  of  a  day  or  sometimes 
several  days  for  feeding.  Some  travel  singly,  or 
in  pairs,  some  in  company  with  birds  of  other 
species,  and  still  others  travel  in  large  flocks  all  of 
the  same  species. 


The  Birds  and  Poets  163 

Some  fly  in  close  formation,  like  the  ducks  and 
geese,  and  others  move  southward  in  loose  flocks, 
like  the  hawks. 

One  September  morning  as  I  was  starting  out  for 
a  walk  in  the  woods,  I  observed  a  red-tailed  hawk 
flying  low  over  the  village  very  much  in  the  man- 
ner described  by  Lowell : 

"Silently  overhead  the  hen-hawk  sails, 
With  watchful  measuring  eye,   and  for  his  quarry 


waits." 


I  had  not  expected  a  "flight"  of  hawks,  and  at 
first  noticed  this  one  alone  soaring  low,  evidently 
in  search  of  food.  Presently,  however,  I  saw  two 
or  three  more  high  in  the  heavens  to  the  north  and 
after  these  had  floated  southward  until  they  were 
nearly  over  head,  others  were  seen  soaring  into 
view,  circling  about  apparently  in  leisurely 
fashion,  and  yet  moving  with  a  good  deal  of  speed 
in  a  general  southerly  direction.  For  at  least  an 
hour  I  watched  them  as  they  continued  to  come 
out  of  the  sky  to  the  north,  three  or  four  at  a  time, 
until  I  had  counted  over  a  hundred,  all  soaring  and 
circling  about  in  a  graceful  manner,  and  yet  with 
the  ultimate  southward  movement,  until  one  by 
one  they  disappeared  in  the  sky  beyond. 

Had  the  poet  Wordsworth  seen  this  flight  of 
hawks,  the  description  which  he  gives  in  the  fol- 
lowing lines  could  not  have  been  more  graceful  or 
appropriate: 


164  Twelve  Months  With 

*      *     Ever,  while  intent 
On  tracing  and  retracing  that  large  round, 
Their  jubilant  activity  evolves 
Hundreds  of  curves  and  circlets,  to  and  fro, 
Upward  and  downward,  progress  intricate 
Yet  unperplexed,  as  if  one  spirit  swayed 
Their  indefatigable  flight.     'Tis  done — 
Ten  times,  or  more,  I  fancied  it  had  ceased; 
But  lo !  the  vanished  company  again 
Ascending.     *     *     *" 

This  flight  or  migrating  in  loose  flock  formation 
continued  for  nearly  half  a  day,  long  after  I  had 
continued  to  watch  the  birds.  Most  of  them  were 
flying  perhaps  500  or  600  feet  high,  but  occasion- 
ally one  was  seen  flying  low  "with  watchful 
measuring  eye." 

These  large  hawks  are  much  too  dignified  to 
migrate  in  compact  and  hurried  fashion,  after  the 
manner  of  the  ducks.  It  is  quite  in  keeping  with 
their  stately  dignity  gracefully  to  soar  about,  inde- 
pendently of  the  movements  of  their  fellows,  and 
yet,  with  a  seeming  reluctance  born  of  a  proud 
spirit,  accepting  each  other's  society,  because  they 
all  were  moved,  and  therefore  more  or  less 
attracted  to  each  other  by  the  common  impulse  to 
migrate.  Because  of  this  loose  flock  method  of 
migration  of  the  hawks,  it  is  easy  to  overlook  the 
flight  and  to  see  one  or  two  hawks  only,  but  at  this 
season  of  the  year  these  flights  of  hawks  southward 
may  often  be  seen,  and  they  have  been  known  to 
continue  for  ten  or  twelve  hours. 


The  Birds  and  Poets  165 

Among  the  common  birds  that  leave  us  in  Sep- 
tember are  the  swallows.  They  are  usually  all  gone 
by  the  middle  of  the  month,  and  have  never  been 
known  to  vary  more  than  a  few  days  in  the  date  of 
their  annual  departure.  Swallows  feed  upon 
insects  captured  while  flying,  so  there  is  really  no 
apparent  reason  for  their  migrating  so  early,  as 
there  are  plenty  of  insects  to  be  found  long  after 
they  have  left  us. 

The  chimney  swift,  one  of  the  most  interesting 
subjects  for  the  student  of  birds,  is  popularly  con- 
fused with  the  swallows,  and  is  often  mis-called 
chimney  swallow,  but  the  resemblance  is  only 
superficial,  while  the  structural  differences 
between  the  two  are  numerous  and  important. 
Structurally  the  swift  is  related  to  the  humming 
birds  and  not  to  the  swallows.  It  feeds  entirely  on 
the  wing,  and  has  never  been  seen  perching  any- 
where except  on  the  inside  of  a  chimney  or  hollow 
tree.  Except  when  nesting  or  roosting  therefore, 
it  is  constantly  on  the  wing,  even  drinking,  and 
gathering  dead  twigs  for  its  nest  while  flying. 
They  skim  over  the  surface  of  the  water  and  dip 
their  bills  into  it  while  on  the  wing.  Tennyson 
speaks  of  the  "skimming  swallows,"  and  Virgil 
wrote : 

"The  twittering  swallow  skims  the  dimpled  lake."* 

They  have  been   observed   dashing  swiftly  past 
old  dead  trees,  catching  at  the  ends  of  dead  twigs, 

*  "Aut  arguta  lacus  circumvolitavit  hirundo." 


1 66  Twelve  Months  With 

and  carrying  them  off  in  their  bills.  Indeed  their 
feet  are  so  slender  and  frail  they  are  unable  to 
perch  across  a  limb  in  the  usual  way,  and  they  use 
them  to  cling  to  the  side  of  the  wall  of  the  chimney 
after  the  manner  of  the  woodpeckers,  using  the 
tail  as  a  support.  Because  of  this  habit,  doubtless 
long  continued,  the  shafts  of  the  tail  feathers  extend 
beyond  the  vanes. 

The  swifts  are  very  rapid  flyers,  and  as  they  dart 
about  in  the  late  afternoon,  their  rolling  twitter 
may  be  easily  heard  high  overhead.  Riley  doubt- 
less referred  to  the  "chimney  swallows"  when  he 
wrote : 

"Sweet  as  swallows  swimming  through 
Eddyings  of  dusk  and  dew." 

When  flying  they  are  similar  in  appearance  to- 
the  swallows,  but  they  are  less  graceful,  and  some- 
times sail  with  their  wings  held  aloft  over  their 
heads,  which  is  the  attitude  they  always  assume 
when  dropping  into  a  chimney.  Formerly  they 
nested  in  hollow  trees  and  caves,  but  now  they  nest 
and  roost  exclusively  in  disused  chimneys.  Their 
nests  are  made  of  dead  twigs  glued  to  the  chimney 
wall  by  a  mucilaginous  saliva  excreted  from  the 
bird's  mouth.  They  are  generally  found  associated 
in  scattered  companies,  and  when  roosting  and 
nesting  are  eminently  gregarious.  It  is  an  inter- 
esting sight  to  watch  a  colony  of  swifts  going  to 
roost  in  an  old  chimney  which  they  have  selected 


The  Birds  and  Poets  167 

for  the  purpose.  When  the  roosting  time  comes 
they  rapidly  approach  the  top  of  the  chimney,  and 
the  whole  company  darts  back  and  forth  over  it, 
time  and  again,  showing  every  indication  of  drop- 
ping into  it  but  still  continuing  their  flight.  After 
a  number  of  preliminary  approaches  of  this  char- 
acter, a  small  number  drop  into  the  chimney  top 
and  disappear,  while  the  rest  continue  their  rapid, 
reeling  flight,  and  circling  and  sailing  about  over 
the  chimney  again,  another  select  few  drop  into 
it,  and  thus  they  continue  until  at  last  all  have  dis- 
appeared in  the  sooty  depths  of  the  chimney. 

The  swifts  also  leave  about  the  middle  of  Sep- 
tember, and  the  remarkable  thing  about  it  is  that 
no  one  knows  where  they  go.  Their  winter  base  is 
one  of  the  unsolved  mysteries  of  bird  migration. 

The  late  Mr.  Wells  W.  Cooke,  of  the  United 
States  Biological  Survey,  perhaps  the  foremost 
American  student  of  migration,  could  tell  us  no 
more  about  this  riddle  than  the  merest  novice. 

He  says : 

"Much  has  been  learned  about  bird  migration  in 
these  latter  days,  but  much  yet  remains  to  be  learned, 
and  the  following  is  one  of  the  most  curious  and  inter- 
esting of  the  unsolved  problems.  The  chimney  swift 
is  one  of  the  most  abundant  and  best-known  birds  of 
eastern  United  States.  With  troops  of  fledglings  catch- 
ing their  winged  prey  as  they  go  and  lodging  by  night 
in  tall  chimneys,  the  flocks  drift  slowly  south,  joining 
with  other  bands,  until  on  the  northern  coast  of  the 
Gulf  of  Mexico  they  become  an  innumerable  host. 


1 68  With  the  Birds  and  Poets 

Then  they  disappear.  Did  they  drop  into  the  water 
or  hibernate  in  the  mud,  as  was  believed  of  old,  their 
obliteration  could  not  be  more  complete.  In  the  last 
week  in  March  a  joyful  twittering  far  overhead 
announces  their  return  to  the  Gulf  coast,  but  their 
hiding  place  during  the  intervening  five  months  is 
still  the  swift's  secret."  * 

However  baffling  the  mystery  of  their  winter 
home,  the  happy  fact  remains  that  they  do  return 
to  us  each  spring,  and  we  have  the  abiding  confi- 
dence of  Adelaide  Anne  Procter  that  they  always 
will: 

"Where  are  the  swallows  fled? 

Frozen  and  dead, 
Perchance,  upon  some  bleak  and  stormy  shore. 

O  doubting  heart! 
Far  over  purple  seas 
They  wait,  in  sunny  ease, 
The  balmy  southern  breeze, 
To  bring  them  to  their  northern  homes  once  more." 


Bull.  No.  185,  U.  S.  Dept.  Agri.,  p.  47. 


OCTOBER. 

There  is  something  in  the  autumn  that  is  native  to  my 
blood — 

Touch  of  manner,  hint  of  mood, — 

And  my  heart  is  like  a  rhyme, 

With  the  yellow  and  the  purple  and  the  crimson  keep- 
ing time. 

The  scarlet  of  the  maples  can  shake  me  like  a  cry 

Of  bugles  going  by. 

And  my  lonely  spirit  thrills 

To  see  the  frosty  asters  like  a  smoke  upon  the  hills. 

There  is  something  in  October  sets  the  gypsy  blood 

astir, 

We  must  rise  and  follow  her, 
When  from  every  hill  of  flame 
She  calls  and  calls  each  vagabond  by  name. 

— Bliss  Carman. 

OW  that  the  Tanager  has  laid  aside 
his  brilliant  scarlet  coat  and  gone 
to  his  winter  home  and  left  the 
landscape  bare,  gentle  Autumn, 
with  colors  gay,  creeps  quietly  over 
the  wooded  hills  and  down  into 
the  sleeping  valleys,  slowly  touching  the  green 
and  gray  with  crimson  and  gold,  until  in  mid- 
October,  finding  none  to  dispute  her  royal  right  to 
beautify  the  world,  she  boldly  flings  abroad  her 


170  Twelve  Months  With 

blazing  banners  until  the  wide,  illumined  land- 
scape becomes  aflame  with  her  gorgeous  colors. 

The  old  earth  has  grown  tired  a  little,  and  mute 
of  song.  Though  the  brilliant  coats  of  birds  and 
their  happy  voices  are  now  largely  a  pleasant 
memory  of  summer  days  that  are  gone,  prodigal 
nature  hath  other  pleasures  in  store,  and 

"All  the  woods  and  mountains  seem  to  shine 
As  if  He  turned  their  water  into  wine." 

Although  there  is  none  of  the  noisy,  joyous  exu- 
berance of  spring,  October  brings  a  sweet  autumnal 
calm,  as  if  the  weary  earth  were  resting  a  little  ere 
winter  comes.  The  spirit  of  October  days  breathes 
in  these  lines  of  Ellen  P.  Allerton : 

"No  loud,  high  notes  for  tender  days  like  these ! 
No  trumpet  tones,  no  swelling  words  of  pride 
Beneath  these  skies,  so  like  dim  summer  seas, 
Where  hazy  ships  of  cloud  at  anchor  ride. 

At  peace  are  earth  and  sky,  while  softly  fall 
The  brown  leaves  at  my  feet;  a  holy  palm 
Rests  in  a  benediction  over  all, 
O  silent  peace !     O  days  of  silent  calm." 

This  "silent  calm"  of  October  has  its  influence 
upon  the  birds  as  upon  other  things  in  nature,  and 
at  this  season  they  are  to  be  seen  and  not  heard. 

They  come  not  to  sing,  but  to  give  us  a  "back- 
ward look,"  as  Emily  Dickinson  expresses  it. 


The  Birds  and  Poets  iji 

Contrary  to  the  popular  notion,  however,  there 
are  more  kinds  of  birds  to  be  seen  in  this  latitude 
in  October  than  in  midsummer,  if  one  will  but 
seek  them  out,  for  the  southward  march  of  the 
army  of  autumn  migrants,  which  reaches  its  flood 
in  September,  continues  with  gradually  diminish- 
ing numbers  well  through  the  month  of  October. 

A  few  of  our  birds  which  are  commonly  known 
as  permanent  residents  might  be  properly  called 
non-migratory.  Some  of  them  may  move  a  bit 
southward  in  winter,  but  the  distance  travelled  is 
comparatively  short,  while  others  of  the  species 
nesting  a  few  miles  north  of  us,  within  the  breeding 
range,  come  down  to  us  in  winter  and  take  the 
place  of  those  that  have  gone.  Among  these  birds 
may  be  mentioned  the  ruffed  grouse,  the  quail, 
cardinal,  robin  and  meadowlark.  The  grouse  and 
quail  are  strictly  non-migratory,  for  many  of  these 
birds  spend  the  sum  of  their  days  within  the  radius 
of  a  few  miles  of  the  nest  where  they  were  hatched. 

George  Cooper  furnishes  the  following  autumn 
picture  of  Bobwhite: 

"I  see  you  on  the  zigzag  rails, 

You  cheery  little  fellow! 
While  purple  leaves  are  whirling  down, 

And  scarlet,  brown  and  yellow, 
I  hear  you  when  the  air  is  full 

Of  snow-down  of  the  thistle; 
All  in  your  speckled  jacket  trim, 

'Bobwhite!     Bobwhite!'  you  whistle.'' 


172  Twelve  Months  With 

Birds  like  the  cardinal,  robin  or  meadowlark, 
migrate  short  distances,  but  oftimes  the  movement 
is  scarcely  noticeable.  Meadowlarks  are  fre- 
quently found  throughout  the  year  in  about  this 
latitude,  notably  on  the  Atlantic  Coast,  but  doubt- 
less the  individuals  of  the  species  nesting  in  this 
region  move  a  few  hundred  miles  south  for  the 
winter,  and  their  places  are  taken  by  other 
migrants  that  have  nested  farther  north.  The  geo- 
graphical range  of  this  bird  covers  the  whole  of  the 
United  States  from  the  Gulf  of  Mexico  to  Canada, 
and  while  those  that  nest  in  this  latitude  may  pass 
on  to  the  southern  states,  many  of  the  birds  breed- 
ing near  the  Canadian  border,  winter  as  far  north 
as  Illinois  and  Massachusetts. 

The  robin  offers  a  similar  illustration  of  migrat- 
ing within  the  geographical  range.  Its  breeding 
range  is  from  the  Arctic  regions  to  near  the  south- 
ern boundary  of  the  United  States,  but  it  occurs 
irregularly  in  winter  from  the  Canadian  border 
south.  Those  that  breed  in  Canada  may  often  be 
found  in  winter  in  southern  Illinois  and  Indiana, 
while  none  will  be  found  along  the  Gulf  coast  until 
winter  when  those  nesting  in  the  middle  or  southern 
portions  of  the  range  have  moved  southward. 

In  other  words,  the  migration  of  birds  like  the 
meadowlark,  robin  and  cardinal  is  almost  if  not 
entirely  within  the  area  which  is  occupied  by  some 
individual  representatives  of  the  species  the  year 
round,  the  migration  simply  being  a  shifting  of  the 
population  within  such  area. 


The  Birds  and  Poets  173 

The  true  migrants,  however,  that  pass  this  way 
in  September  and  October,  have  deserted  the  entire 
region  occupied  by  them  as  a  summer  home,  and 
are  moving  on  to  some  distant  district  which  has 
been  adopted  by  them  solely  as  a  winter  home. 

Among  our  most  common  long-distance 
migrants  may  be  mentioned  the  bobolinks,  that 
nest  in  this  latitude  and  northward,  and  winter  in 
southern  Brazil;  the  scarlet  tanager,  which 
migrates  from  Canada  to  Peru;  purple  martins, 
swallows,  and  thrushes,  which  breed  from  this  lati- 
tude northward,  and  migrate  to  Central  South 
America,  and  the  nighthawks,  which  nest  as  far 
north  as  Yukon,  and  spend  their  winters  in  Argen- 
tina, 7000  miles  distant.  Many  species  of  shore 
birds  breeding  north  of  the  Arctic  Circle,  visit 
South  America  over  a  migration  route  of  about 
8000  miles. 

The  Arctic  tern  is  called  by  the  late  Mr.  Wells 
W.  Cooke,  "the  world's  migration  champion." 
These  little  birds  nest  as  far  north  as  land  has  been 
discovered,  arriving  there  about  June  15,  where 
they  remain  until  about  August  25,  when  they 
leave  for  the  south,  and  several  months  later  they 
are  found  in  large  numbers  skirting  the  edge 
of  the  Antarctic  continent,  11,000  miles  from  the 
nesting  site.  This  bird  thus  covers  a  round  trip 
migration  route  of  22,000  miles  every  year  with 
scarcely  twenty  weeks  for  the  round  trip.  This 
means  one  hundred  and  fifty  miles  a  day  in  a 
straight  line,  but  this  distance  is  no  doubt  actually 


174  Twelve  Months  With 

doubled  or  trebled  by  these  birds  every  day,  by 
reason  of  their  darting,  irregular  flight  in  search 
of  food.  Mr.  Cooke  calls  attention  to  an  interest- 
ing fact  which  results  from  the  wonderful  migra- 
tion habits  of  this  bird : 

"The  Arctic  tern  has  more  hours  of  daylight  and 
sunlight  than  any  other  animal  on  the  globe.  At  the 
most  northern  nesting  site  the  midnight  sun  has  already 
appeared  before  the  birds'  arrival,  and  it  never  sets 
during  their  entire  stay  at  the  breeding  grounds.  Dur- 
ing two  months  of  their  sojourn  in  the  Antarctic  the 
birds  do  not  see  a  sunset,  and  for  the  rest  of  the  time 
the  sun  dips  only  a  little  way  below  the  horizon,  and 
broad  daylight  is  continuous.  The  birds  therefore 
have  twenty-four  hours  of  daylight  for  at  least  eight 
months  in  the  year,  and  during  the  other  four  months 
have  considerably  more  daylight  than  darkness."* 

Very  few  observations  have  been  made  as  to  the 
migration  route  of  this  bird  and  its  exact  route  is 
unknown,  but  it  has  been  recorded  as  an  irregular 
visitant  along  the  Atlantic  Coast. 

The  only  tern  that  is  a  common  resident  in  the 
Central  States  is  the  black  tern.  It  is  a  summer 
resident  in  this  latitude,  while  the  Caspian,  com- 
mon and  Forster's  terns  are  more  or  less  common 
migrants.  The  terns  are  beautiful,  graceful  birds, 
the  smaller  varieties  like  the  Arctic  and  black 
resembling  swallows  in  length  of  wing  and  general 
appearance,  while  the  larger  ones,  like  the  Cas- 

•Bull.  No.  185,  U.  S.  Dcpt.  Agri.,  p.  n. 


The  Birds  and  Poets  175 

pian,  and  Forster's  are  by  careless  observers  some- 
times confused  with  the  gulls  on  the  Great  Lakes 
because  of  their  size  and  their  similar  white  and 
gray  plumage.  Terns  may  be  easily  distinguished 
from  gulls  by  the  position  of  their  bills,  which  are 
always  pointed  downward,  while  flying,  like  a 
huge  mosquito,  whereas  the  bill  of  the  gull  is- 
always  pointed  straight  ahead  in  the  plane  of  its 
body. 

Another  very  common  little  migrant  among  the 
shore  birds,  which  may  be  seen  in  small  flocks  of 
four  to  ten  running  along  the  sandy  beach  of  Lake 
Michigan  or  any  of  the  Great  Lakes  in  September 
and  October  is  the  sanderling,  familiarly  called 
"sand-snipe,"  by  the  natives  along  shore.  It 
is  a  small,  snipe-shaped  bird,  measuring  about  an 
inch  longer  than  the  common  spotted  sandpiper, 
with  rather  long  straight  black  bill  which  it  pokes 
into  the  soft  wet  sand  in  search  of  aquatic  insects. 
Its  feet  and  legs  are  black  and  its  plumage  gen- 
erally dull  black  and  white.  These  little  birdsr 
which  are  quite  tame,  run  rapidly  along  the  water's 
edge  ahead  of  anyone  walking  on  the  sand,  until 
they  have  moved  up  the  beach  at  a  safe  distance 
of  thirty  or  forty  feet,  when  they  stop  and  feed 
until  one  again  approaches  to  within  fifteen  or 
twenty  feet  of  them,  when  they  run  on  again. 
Repeating  this  practice  many  times,  they  seem 
loath  to  give  up  their  feeding  for  flight.  Their 
long  slender  legs  are  stiff  and  set  wide  apart,  and 
when  the  birds  are  running  and  the  stiff  little  legs 


176  Twelve  Months  With 

are  moving  rapidly  under  their  straight  little 
bodies,  they  have  a  singular  mechanical  appear- 
ance, like  a  toy  automaton.  When  they  do  reluc- 
tantly prepare  for  flight  when  too  nearly 
approached,  they  quickly  face  the  water,  and  seem 
suddenly  to  run  into  flight  as  they  skim  out  from 
the  edge  of  the  water  over  the  breaking  waves. 
Their  colors  and  movements  seem  a  veritable  part 
of  the  surf  and  sand,  for  their  plumage  is  the  color 
of  sand-encrusted  foam,  and  their  rolling  running 
movements  in  and  out  along  the  water's  edge,  and 
across  the  sand,  are  beautifully  like  the  alternate 
rolling  and  receding  of  the  spent  waves  up  and 
down  the  long  beach. 

"Thy  flitting  form  comes  ghostly  dim  and  pale, 
As  driven  by  a  beating  storm  at  sea." 

Circling  out  over  the  water  a  short  distance,  they 
fly  along  the  beach  two  or  three  hundred  feet  and 
again  alight  on  the  sand  at  the  water's  edge  and 
continue  their  alternate  feeding  and  running  until 
again  flushed. 

Another  little  shore  bird  frequently  seen  migrat- 
ing at  this  season  is  the  semipalmated  sandpiper, 
which  is  similar  in  appearance  and  habits  to  the 
sanderling,  but  it  is  nearly  two  inches  smaller  in 
size.  The  sanderling  is  always  distinguishable  by 
the  singular  fact  that  it  has  only  three  toes. 

One  of  the  most  interesting  of  our  summer  resi- 
dents that  migrates  south  this  month  is  the  night- 


The  Birds  and  Poets  177 

hawk,  sometimes  called  Bull-bat,  because  of  his 
bat-like,  erratic  movements  in  flight,  and  his  noc- 
turnal habits. 

The  nighthawk  passes  the  day  in  perching 
lengthwise  on  a  limb  of  a  tree,  after  the  manner 
of  the  whippoorwill,  and  after  sunset  he  rises  high 
in  the  air  in  search  of  insects.  As  he  darts  about, 
his  metallic  "peet!  peet!"  may  be  distinctly  heard, 
sometimes  long  after  the  light  of  the  closing  day 
has  faded,  for  he  is  truly  a  nocturnal  bird. 

Nests  of  this  bird  are  sometimes  found  on  the 
roofs  of  buildings.  I  once  discovered  a  set  of  two 
eggs  in  a  little  pocket  in  the  stone  cornice  of  a  thir- 
teen story  building  in  Chicago,  opposite  my  office 
window,  which  I  caught  sight  of  one  morning 
while  feeding  pigeons.  With  the  consent  of  the 
manager  I  engaged  one  of  the  window  washers  of 
the  building  to  scale  the  cornice  for  me  and  secure 
the  eggs,  which  were  easily  identified  as  the  night- 
hawk's.  The  eggs  were  returned  to  their  niche  but 
evidently  they  had  been  deserted,  for  no  birds 
appeared  near  them,  and  after  a  few  days  one  of 
the  eggs  disappeared,  and  later  the  other  one  was 
missing. 

The  subject  of  bird  migration  is  one  of  never 
failing  interest.  Much  has  been  and  could  still  be 
written  about  it,  and  yet  the  wonderful  faculty  of 
these  little  animals  to  find  their  way  about  through 
the  air  for  such  tremendous  distances,  is  still  very 
largely  a  mystery.  The  birds  seem  to  have  an 
exaggerated  or  highly  developed  sense  of  direction. 


178  Twelve  Months  With 

Most  animals,  especially  those  whose  natural 
instincts  have  not  been  dulled  by  domestication, 
have  this  sense  in  more  or  less  marked  degree,  but 
in  the  exercise  of  this  faculty  the  birds  unquestion- 
ably excel.  While  man  cannot  navigate  the  seas 
without  the  aid  of  chart  and  compass,  birds 
released  from  a  ship  many  miles  at  sea  will  invari- 
ably and  unhesitatingly  head  their  flight  directly 
toward  the  nearest  land.  It  is  interesting,  in  this 
connection  to  recall  what  an  important  part 
migrating  birds  had  in  the  discovery  of  this  con- 
tinent by  Columbus.  When  the  great  navigator 
and  his  men  were  almost  upon  the  point  of  aban- 
doning the  attempt  to  reach  land  and  about  a  week 
before  they  landed  at  San  Salvador,  great  encour- 
agement came  to  them  from  observing  large 
numbers  of  birds  migrating  to  the  southwest,  as 
they  do  now,  near  the  Atlantic  coast.  When  after 
a  few  days  they  became  very  abundant  Columbus 
changed  his  course  and  followed  them,  ultimately 
reaching  the  Bahamas.  It  follows  that  migratory 
birds  were  responsible  for  the  fact  that  the  great 
navigator  first  landed  in  the  Bahama  Islands, 
rather  than  on  the  mainland  of  North  America. 

The  homing  instinct  or  sense  of  direction  of 
birds  has  been  clearly  demonstrated  by  some  very 
remarkable  experiments  conducted  by  Prof.  Wat- 
son, of  Johns  Hopkins  University.  Many  thou- 
sands of  sooty  and  noddy  terns  nest  on  Bird  Key, 
a  small  island  in  the  Dry  Tortugas.  Prof.  Watson 
took  three  or  four  of  these  birds  first  twenty,  then 


The  Birds  and  Poets  179 

sixty,  then  one  hundred  and  eight  and  lastly  over  a 
thousand  miles  up  the  Atlantic  coast,  and  again 
eight  hundred  and  fifty  miles  directly  across  the 
Gulf  of  Mexico  where  there  could  be  no  possible 
landmark  to  guide  the  birds'  return,  and  in  every 
instance,  after  a  reasonable  length  of  time,  depend- 
ing upon  the  distance  travelled,  the  birds  were 
found  again  occupying  their  nests  at  Bird  Key. 

Doubtless  this  sense  of  direction  in  the  aborigi- 
nal man  was  strong  and  perhaps  as  unerring  as  it  is 
now  with  the  birds,  but  in  the  course  of  many  gen- 
erations of  culture  man  came  to  rely  so  much  upon 
various  mechanical  devices  and  guides  invented 
and  designed  for  his  aid,  and  so  little  upon  instinct, 
that  the  latter  ultimately  became,  as  it  were,  atro- 
phied from  disuse,  leaving  him  almost  wholly 
dependent  upon  artificial  guides  to  enable  him 
safely  to  find  his  way  about  the  world.  No  such 
change,  of  course,  has  taken  place  with  the  birds. 
With  them  this  sixth  sense  is  at  least  as  strong  as  it 
ever  was. 

Therefore  it  unfortunately  happens  that  thou- 
sands of  birds  during  their  migration  are  actually 
lured  to  their  death  by  one  of  the  very  devices 
designed  by  man  to  assist  him  in  avoiding  the  dan- 
gers incident  to  his  travels.  Lighthouses  for  some 
unknown  reason  seem  to  hold  an  almost  irresistible 
attraction  for  birds  migrating  at  night,  and  the 
brighter  the  light,  the  greater  the  attraction. 
Especially  upon  dark  or  stormy  nights,  during  the 
migration  season,  the  birds  seem  drawn  to  these 


180  Twelve  Months  With 

lights  as  moths  are  attracted  by  a  flame.  After 
flying  within  the  radius  of  the  rays  of  such  a  light 
they  appear  to  be  blinded  by  it  and,  becoming  con- 
fused, dash  themselves  to  death  against  the  struc- 
ture which  sustains  it.  Many  interesting  observa- 
tions of  this  kind  have  been  made  by  ornithologists 
at  lighthouses,  and  such  experiences  are  familiar 
to  all  keepers  of  such  coast  lights. 

Thousands  of  birds  have  met  death  in  this  way 
at  the  Statue  of  Liberty  Light,  in  New  York  har- 
bor, and  Dr.  Chapman  in  referring  to  accidents 
of  this  kind  to  birds  at  Fire  Island  Light,  Long 
Island,  records  the  killing  during  one  night  of 
three  hundred  and  fifty-six  black  poll  warblers 
alone.  Successful  efforts  have  been  made  at  some 
of  these  stations  to  install  lights  of  a  kind  which 
will  answer  all  the  purposes  of  navigation,  without 
being  so  deadly  to  the  migrating  birds,  and  perches 
have  also  been  erected  around  some  of  the  lights 
in  an  effort  to  lure  the  birds  away  from  the  light  to 
a  place  of  rest  and  safety. 

Migration  itself,  like  the  homing  instinct  or 
sense  of  direction,  while  not  altogether  peculiar  to 
the  birds,  is  more  highly  developed  with  them  than 
with  any  other  animals.  Winter  visitors  to  the 
Pacific  Coast  may  see  sporting  about  in  the  warmer 
California  coast  waters,  seals  which  have  migrated 
thence  from  the  Bering  Sea.  Doubtless  moved  by 
the  same  primal  surge  which  is  felt  by  the  birds  in 
the  spring,  salmon,  eels  and  shad  during  the  same 
season  travel  up  the  streams  to  lay  their  eggs,  and 


The  Birds  and  Poets  181 

some  deer  in  the  extreme  north  migrate  southward 
in  winter.  As  with  the  birds,  the  two  most  com- 
pelling influences  in  inducing  these  migrations  are 
the  instinct  for  reproduction  and  the  desire  for 
food. 

By  the  end  of  October,  all  of  the  true  migrants 
save  a  few  stragglers  have  gone  to  their  winter 
homes  in  the  south,  and  the  lonesome  bird  lover 
begins  to  feel  with  Lowell  that 

"Autumn's  here,  and  Winter  soon  will  be, 
Who  snows  his  soft,  white  sleep  and  silence  over  all.' 


NOVEMBER. 

The  mellow  year  is  hastening  to  its  close; 

The  little  birds  have  almost  sung  their  last, — 

Their  small  notes  twitter  in  the  dreary  blast, — 
That  shrill-piped  harbinger  of  early  snows. 
The  patient  beauty  of  the  scentless  rose, 

Oft  with  the  morn's  hoar  crystal  quaintly  glassed 

Hangs,  a  pale  mourner  for  the  summer  past, 
And  makes  a  little  summer  where  it  grows, 
In  the  chill  sunbeam  of  the  faint,  brief  day, 

The  dusky  waters  shudder  as  they  shine; 
The  russet  leaves  obstruct  the  straggling  way 

Of  oozy  brooks,  which  no  deep  banks  confine, 
And  the  gaunt  woods,  in  ragged,  scant  array, 

Wrap  their  old  limbs  with  sombre  ivy  twine. 

— Hartley  Coleridge. 

ANY  of  the  poets  who  should  have 
known  better  have  seemed  to  think 
that  the  month  of  November  was 
an  appropriate  subject  only  for  a 
dirge  or  an  ode  to  despondency! 
They  have  sung  of  both  the  nega- 
tive and  positive  qualities  of  the  month,  but  seldom 
in  a  happy  vein.  They  have  rather  made  Novem- 
ber the  melancholy  subject  for  the  expression  of 
their  sad  and  serious  thought, — because  perchance 
they  have  exhausted  themselves  over  the  beauties 
and  glories  of  spring  and  summer,  or  because  of 
necessity  they  must  be  sad  and  serious  at  some  un- 
fortunate season. 


184  Twelve  Months  With 

The  negative  qualities  of  the  month  are  humor- 
ously depicted  by  Thomas  Hood  in  the  following 
lines : 

"No  sun — no  moon! 

No  morn — no  noon! 

No  dawn — no  dusk — no  proper  time  of  day — 
No  sky — no  earthly  view — 
No  distance  looking  blue — 


No  warmth,  no  cheerfulness,  no  healthful  ease, 

No  comfortable  feel  in  any  member — 
No  shade,  no  shine,  no  butterflies,  no  bees, 
No  fruits,  no  flowers,  no  leaves,  no  birds, 
November  1" 

Most  of  the  poets,  however,  have  not  been  con- 
tent with  picturing  merely  the  negative  qualities  of 
the  month,  but  have  expressed  a  sense  of  profound 
desolation  in  the  whole  November  landscape. 

Walter  Malone  gives  us  this  dismal  picture : 

"No  voice  is  heard  in  field  or  forest  nigh 

To  break  the  desolation  of  the  spell, 
Save  one  sad  mocking-bird  in  boughs  near  by, 
Who  sings  like  Tasso  in  his  madman's  cell." 

S.  Frances  Harrison,  poet  though  she  be,  con- 
fesses to  a  lack  of  vision  on  dull  November  days : 


The  Birds  and  Poets  185 

"These  are  the  days  that  try  us;  these  the  hours 
That  find,  or  leave  us,  cowards — doubters  of  Heaven, 
Skeptics  of  self,  and  riddled  through  with  vain 
Blind  questionings  as  to  Deity.     Mute,  we  scan 
The  sky,  the  barren,  wan,  the  drab,  dull  sky, 
And  mark  it  utterly  blank. 

When  sodden  leaves  are  merged  in  melting  mire, 
And  garden  plots  lie  pilfered,  and  the  vines 
Are  strings  of  tangled  rigging  reft  of  green, 
Crude  harps  whereon  the  winter  wind  shall  play 
His  bitter  music — on  a  day  like  this, 
We,  harboring  no  Hellenic  images,  stand 
In  apathy  mute  before  our  window  pane, 
And  muse  upon  the  blankness." 

C.  L.  Cleaveland  makes  a  valiant  effort  to  be 
cheerful  about  it,  but  confesses  his  failure: 

"In  the  high  wind  creaks  the  leafless  tree 
And  nods  the  fading  fern; 
The  knolls  are  dun  as  snow-clouds  be, 
And  cold  the  sun  does  burn. 
Then  ho,  hello !  though  calling  so, 
I  cannot  keep  it  down; 
The  tears  arise  into  my  eyes, 
And  thoughts  are  chill  and  brown." 

Burns'  famous  line: 

"November's  chill  blaws  loud  wi'  angry  sugh," 
makes  one  almost  shiver! 


1 86  Twelve  Months  With 

Henry  Abbey  writes  in  the  same  vein : 

"An  icy  hand  is  on  the  land; 
The  cloudy  sky  is  sad  and  gray;" — 

The  predominant  note  with  most  of  the  poets 
has  been  that  the  month  at  best  was  gray  and  dead. 
Bird  lovers  and  nature  students  know  better. 
November  has  as  much  color  and  as  many  birds  as 

July. 

Some  of  the  poets,  like  Edna  Dean  Proctor,  take 
a  more  hopeful  view: 

"This  is  the  summer's  burial-time; 
She  died  when  dropped  the  earliest  leaves; 
And  cold  upon  her  rosy  prime, 
Fell  down  the  autumn's  frosty  rime; 
Yet  I  am  not  as  one  that  grieves, 

For  well  I  know  o'er  sunny  seas 
The  blue  bird  waits  for  April  skies; 
And  at  the  roots  of  forest  trees 
The  May-flowers  sleep  in  fragrant  ease, 
And  violets  hide  their  azure  eyes." 

Amos  Bryant  Russell  writes  these  fine  lines  of 
the  late  warm  days  of  November: 

"A  wave  of  summer's  overflow, 
A  fugitive  which  went  astray, 
That  on  its  passage  lost  its  way; 
A  prelude  to  an  autumn  dirge, 
An  interlude  on  winter's  verge, 


The  Birds  and  Poets  187 

A  narrow  space  twixt  flower  and  snow, 

An  afterthought,  an  afterglow, 

A  smile  upon  the  waning  year, 

A  ray  to  shine  through  nature's  tear." 

Frances  Laughton  Mace  refers  to  the  season  as 
one  of  peace  and  prayer,  after  the  joy  and  songs  of 
summer: 

"Is  it  that  Nature  calls  us 
Her  services  of  peace  to  share? 
After  the  song  the  silence — 
After  the  praise  the  prayer." 

Riley  contributes  this  refreshing  note  of  opti- 
mism: 

"While  birds  in  scattered  flight  are  blown 

Aloft  and  lost  in  dusky  mist, 
And  truant  boys  scud  home  alone 

'Neath  skies  of  gold  and  amethyst; 
While  twilight  falls,  and  Echo  calls 

Across  the  haunted  atmosphere, 
With  low,  sweet  laughs  at  intervals, — 

So  reigns  the  rapture  of  the  year. 

Then  ho!  and  hey!  and  whoop-hooray! 

Though  winter  clouds  be  looming, 
Remember  a  November  day 
Is  merrier  than  mildest  May 

With  all  her  blossoms  blooming" 

No  month  can  be  gray  and  dead  that  brings  us 
the  hermit  thrush.  This  finest  of  songsters  may  be 


1 88  Twelve  Months  With 

seen  in  the  woods  almost  any  day  in  November. 
Unfortunately  he  does  not  favor  us  with  his  song 
as  he  pauses  on  his  migration  southward, — and  I 
never  see  him  in  the  woods  that  I  do  not  long  for 
the  power  of  a  Svengali  that  I  might  make  him 
sing  to  me. 

Indeed,  so  far  as  the  birds  are  concerned, 
November  might  be  called  the  border-line  month 
between  summer  and  winter,  "an  interlude  on  win- 
ter's verge."  During  this  month  the  last  of  the 
migratory  birds  come  to  us  and  pass  on  to  the  south, 
and  the  first  of  the  northern  residents  pay  us  their 
annual  winter  visits.  Some  of  our  summer  resi- 
dents also  remain  with  us  until  November,  includ- 
ing the  vesper,  field,  chipping  and  swamp 
sparrows,  the  red-winged  and  crow  blackbirds,  the 
kingfisher  and  the  mourning  dove. 

The  latter  bird  is  the  only  dove  left  to  us  since 
the  extermination  of  the  beautiful  passenger 
pigeon.  He  is  an  old  favorite  whose  cooing, 
mournful,  ventriloquous  notes  are  familiar  to  us 
all. 

He  was  loved  by  Nathaniel  P.  Willis : 

"  'Tis  a  bird  I  love,  with  its  brooding  note 
And  the  trembling  throb  in  its  mottled  throat; 
There's  a  human  look  in  its  swelling  breast, 
And  the  gentle  curve  of  its  lowly  crest." 

Mourning  doves  are  rapid  flyers,  and  often  may 
be  seen  in  pairs,  as  late  as  November,  scurrying 


The  Birds  and  Poets  189 

over  the  fields  as  if  hurrying  to  some  distant  ren- 
dezvous. 

Among  the  late  migrants,  in  addition  to  the  her- 
mit thrush,  may  be  mentioned  the  juncos,  the  ruby- 
crowned  and  golden-crowned  kinglets,  and  some 
of  the  shore  birds.  With  one  of  the  migrating  shore 
birds  I  had  a  rather  unusual  experience  in  Novem- 
ber. 

One  bright  day  early  in  the  month,  feeling  the 
irresistible  call  of  the  fields,  and  being  unable  to 
answer  it,  I  stole  an  hour  from  my  office  and  ran 
away  to  Lincoln  Park.  I  found  many  old  nests 
among  the  bushes  that  had  bared  their  slender 
limbs  to  the  November  wind,  but  finding  few  birds 
I  walked  over  to  the  lake  where  I  hoped  to  see 
some  shore  or  water  birds.  A  large  flock  of  her- 
ring and  Bonaparte  gulls  were  floating  on  the 
water,  while  others  circled  about,  "searching  the 
blue  dome  with  keening  cry."  The  beach  at  the 
point  where  I  approached  the  lake  is  in  reality  a 
concrete  breakwater,  running  down  to  the  water's 
edge,  an  ugly  cement  imitation  of  a  sandy  shore. 
Along  such  a  beach  I  had  no  hopes  of  seeing  any 
shore  birds  feeding  at  the  water's  edge.  With  my 
attention  fixed  upon  the  gulls  scattered  about  over 
the  lake  I  almost  stepped  upon  a  pair  of  red- 
backed  sandpipers  running  about  at  the  edge  of  the 
water,  apparently  as  well  satisfied  as  if  the  cement 
were  white  sand.  They  seemed  very  tame,  as  unmo- 
lested migrating  birds  usually  are,  uttering  no  cry 
of  alarm,  and  making  no  effort  to  run  or  fly  away. 


190  Twelve  Months  With 

I  knew  them  at  once  by  the  slight  downward  curve 
of  their  bills.  In  winter  these  little  sandpipers  are 
called  "leadbacks,"  having  rather  inconspicuous 
dull  brownish-gray  plumage,  but  the  downward 
curve  of  their  bills  is  a  sure  mark  of  identification, 
as  it  is  peculiar  to  this  species.  In  summer  plum- 
age the  upper  parts  are  broadly  margined  with 
rufous,  or  reddish  brown,  whence  its  name,  and  the 
middle  of  the  belly  is  marked  with  a  large  black 
patch.  The  bird  is  about  an  inch  and  a  half  longer 
than  the  semipalmated,  and  about  a  half  inch 
longer  than  the  spotted  sandpiper.  Its  unsuspi- 
cious character  makes  it  appear  rather  stupid,  and 
it  is  also  less  active  than  most  members  of  its  fam- 
ily. It  is  quite  a  common  bird  in  this  latitude 
during  the  spring  and  fall  migrations.  Generally 
speaking  the  red-backs  are  shore  or  beach  birds, 
but  they  are  sometimes  to  be  found  in  grassy 
marshes. 

Another  interesting  member  of  the  same  family 
(scolopacidae)  which  is  always  found  in  grassy 
marshes  and  fresh  water  swamps  is  the  Wilson's 
or  jack  snipe.  This  little  bird  is  a  late  migrant, 
often  remaining  with  us  until  the  last  of  Novem- 
ber. It  is  a  favorite  with  sportsmen  because  of  the 
delicacy  of  its  flesh  and  because  it  taxes  the  skill  of 
the  hunter  to  the  utmost.  When  I  was  a  boy  and 
had  yet  acquired  no  scruples  against  shooting  any- 
thing called  game,  I  once  in  the  course  of  a  day's 
hunt  came  upon  six  of  these  little  snipe  in  a 
meadow  swamp.  The  swamp  was  a  small  patch 


The  Birds  and  Poets  191 

of  wet  ground,  grown  up  to  thick  grass  and  brush, 
surrounded  by  dry  pasture.  My  two  companions 
and  I  flushed  the  birds  one  after  another,  and  upon 
taking  flight  they  rapidly  darted  off  close  over  the 
ground,  in  zigzag  fashion,  until  they  were  some 
distance  away  when  they  rose  high  in  the  air, 
circled  rapidly  about  in  the  leaden  sky  directly 
over  our  heads,  and  then  suddenly  dropped  down 
with  great  velocity  into  the  little  swamp,  as  if  they 
had  been  thrown  from  a  catapult.  I  remember  full 
well  that  several  times  we  flushed  the  birds  and 
watched  them  go  through  the  same  gyrations,  for 
our  youthful  skill  in  marksmanship  was  not  equal 
to  the  birds'  skill  in  flight.  At  each  precipitous 
descent  a  whistling,  tremulous  sound  was  heard, 
produced  by  the  rushing  of  the  air  through  the 
birds'  feathers.  They  returned  to  the  swamp  after 
each  flight,  however,  apparently  unwilling  to  trust 
themselves  elsewhere  than  in  the  dense  thicket  or 
the  high  sky  above. 

While  these  birds  have  no  song,  the  whistling, 
bleating  sound  made  when  descending  rapidly  to 
the  earth,  gives  them  a  place  among  the  instru- 
mentalists, with  the  peacocks,  grouse,  woodpeckers 
and  some  foreign  species.  The  particular  method 
of  the  snipe  in  producing  this  instrumental  music, 
however,  distinguishes  it  from  all  other  instrumen- 
talists. 

Darwin,  after  discussing  several  species  of  birds 
that  practice  certain  forms  of  instrumental  music,. 


192  Twelve  Months  With 

refers  to  the  peculiarity  of  the  snipe's  efforts  in  this 
line: 

"In  the  foregoing  cases  sounds  are  made  by  the  aid 
of  structures  already  present  and  otherwise  necessary; 
but  in  the  following  cases  certain  feathers  have  been 
specially  modified  for  the  express  purpose  of  produc- 
ing sounds.  The  drumming,  bleating,  neighing  or 
thundering  noise  (as  expressed  by  different  observers) 
made  by  the  common  snipe  (scolopax  gallinago)  must 
have  surprised  every  one  who  has  ever  heard  it.  This 
bird,  during  the  pairing  season,  flies  to  'perhaps  a  thou- 
sand feet  in  height'  and  after  zigzagging  about  for  a 
time  descends  to  the  earth  in  a  curved  line  with  out- 
spread tail  and  quivering  pinions  and  surprising  ve- 
locity. The  sound  is  emitted  only  during  this  rapid 
descent.  No  one  was  able  to  explain  the  cause  until 
M.  Meves  observed  that  on  each  side  of  the  tail  the 
outer  feathers  are  peculiarly  formed,  having  a  stiff 
saber-shaped  shaft  with  the  oblique  barbs  of  unusual 
length,  the  outer  webs  being  strongly  bound  together. 
He  found  that  by  blowing  on  these  feathers,  or  by 
fastening  them  to  a  long,  thin  stick  and  waving  them 
rapidly  through  the  air,  he  could  reproduce  the  drum- 
ming noise  made  by  the  living  bird."* 

As  early  as  1773,  Gilbert  White,  with  character- 
istic keenness  and  accuracy  of  observation  sus- 
pected that  the  snipe  possessed  this  faculty  for 
instrumental  music.  In  "Selborne"  he  writes: 
"Whether  the  bleating  or  humming  is  ventrilo- 
quous,  or  proceeds  from  the  motion  of  their  wings, 

•The  Descent  of  Man,  p.  427. 


The  Birds  and  Poets  193 

I  cannot  say;  but  this  I  know,  that,  when  this  noise 
happens,  the  bird  is  always  descending,  and  his 
wings  are  violently  agitated." 

Wilson's  snipe  are  small  birds  less  than  twelve 
inches  in  length,  including  three  inches  of  bill,  and 
their  plumage  is  dark  brown  or  black  mottled  with 
cream  buff,  and  as  they  skim  rapidly  over  the 
brown  fields  they  can  scarcely  be  seen. 

Another  peculiarity  which  fortunately  makes 
their  slaughter  difficult  is  that,  like  the  woodcock, 
they  usually  feed  and  migrate  at  night  or  on  heavy, 
dark  days. 

In  the  latitude  of  Northern  Illinois  the  herring 
gull  and  the  ring-billed  gull  are  winter  residents 
arriving  from  the  north  in  November.  Bona- 
parte's gull  is  a  transient  that  may  be  looked  for  in 
April  and  again  in  the  fall,  sometimes  as  late  as 
the  middle  of  November.  These  beautiful  little 
gulls  frequently  visit  the  lagoons  in  the  Chicago 
parks,  adjacent  to  Lake  Michigan,  where  they  feed 
upon  minnows,  diving  after  them  tern-like.  They 
may  also  be  seen  frequently  on  all  our  large  lakes. 
They  are  easily  distinguished  from  the  common 
herring  gull  by  their  small  size  and  the  black  tips 
of  the  wings,  so  conspicuous  as  they  fly  overhead. 
The  herring  gull  measures  two  feet  in  length, 
while  the  Bonaparte  is  only  about  fourteen  inches 
long.  The  plumage  of  these  two  species  is  similar, 
being  gray  above  and  white  beneath,  although  the 
head  and  neck  of  the  Bonaparte  is  much  darker, 
sometimes  almost  black. 


194  Twelve  Months  With 

The  herring  gull  is  very  common  in  winter  on 
all  the  Great  Lakes,  and  in  spring  may  also  be  seen 
on  many  of  our  inland  rivers  and  lakes  and  over- 
flowed meadows,  feeding  upon  dead  fish. 

It  must  have  been  one  of  these  spring  excursions 
inland  that  inspired  the  following  from  Stevenson: 

"Far  from  the  loud  sea  beaches, 

Where  he  goes  fishing  and  crying, 
Here  in  the  inland  garden, 

Why  is  the  sea  gull  flying." 

Or  the  poet  may  have  observed  the  Franklin's 
gull,  an  inland  species,  inhabiting  the  prairies  of 
Minnesota  and  the  Dakotas. 

Considering  how  common  these  fine  water  birds 
now  are,  it  is  interesting  to  note  the  following 
observation  made  by  Mr.  E.  W.  Nelson  in  his 
"Birds  of  Northeastern  Illinois" :  "A  single  speci- 
men, an  adult  female,  was  obtained  in  Chicago 
harbor  March  27,  1876."  Very  rare  at  that  time, 
the  American  herring  gull  was  considered  a 
variety  (Larus  argentatus  smithsonianus)  of  the 
European  species,  known  to  this  country  only  as  a 
very  casual  visitor  to  the  Atlantic  seacoast. 

It  is  interesting  to  watch  the  gulls  in  winter  hov- 
ering near  the  outlets  of  the  sewers  along  the  lake 
and  river  fronts  in  Chicago,  where  they  feed  upon 
floating  refuse.  As  the  birds  are  never  molested 
they  are  very  tame,  and  may  be  approached  and 
observed  without  difficulty.  In  these  flocks  I  have 
only  succeeded  in  finding  the  three  species  named: 


The  Birds  and  Poets  195 

herring,  Bonaparte  and  ring-billed.  The  latter  is 
similar  in  appearance  to  the  herring  gull,  but 
slightly  smaller,  and  its  light  greenish  bill  is 
crossed  by  a  dark  band  near  the  tip. 

The  gulls  are  very  welcome  visitors  to  city- 
bound  folk  in  winter.  They  are  wholly  unmindful 
of  cold  or  winter  storms,  and  remain  with  us  until 
spring  when  they  go  north  to  breed.  Cale  Young 
Rice  shows  his  appreciation  for  them  in  his  "Gulls 
at  Land's  End": 

""Hungry  gulls,  hungry  gulls,  hunters  of  the  foam, 

Leave  not  the  shore  for  the  ship  that  sets  to  sea  1 
Harsh  the  night  is  falling  and  the  hoarse  waves  roam, 
Rest  you  in  the  cloven  cliff's  lea !" 

Thousands  of  these  gulls  nest  every  spring  on 
rocky  cliffs  and  small,  barren  islands  near  the 
northern  end  of  Lake  Michigan,  and  on  Lake 
Superior,  notably  in  Green  Bay,  Lake  Michigan, 
and  on  Gull  Island  in  Lake  Superior.  A  recent 
study  of  the  herring  gull  and  its  nesting  habits  at 
these  points  was  made  by  Mr.  R.  M.  Strong,  who 
visited  Gull  Island  in  Lake  Superior  near  Mar- 
quette,  Michigan,  and  Strawberry  Islands,  Sister 
Islands  and  Hat  Island,  in  Green  Bay,  Lake  Mich- 
igan, in  the  summer  of  1911.* 

It  has  been  reported  that  herring  gulls  have 
nested  on  the  eastern  shore  of  Lake  Michigan 
nearly  as  far  south  as  South  Haven,  Michigan,  but 

*  Smithsonian  Rep.  1914,  pp.  479-509. 


196  Twelve  Months  With 

I  have  walked  the  beach  north  of  this  point  for 
several  miles,  and  carefully  examined  the  shore 
and  adjacent  clay  cliffs  without  finding  any  signs 
of  nests.  There  are  thousands  of  herring  gulls 
along  this  shore  in  late  summer,  and  the  presence 
of  these  large  flocks  is  doubtless  responsible  for  the 
report  that  the  birds  breed  in  this  area.  I  know 
of  no  breeding  colonies  south  of  Hat  Island  in 
Green  Bay.  The  herring  gull  is  the  species  com- 
monly called  "sea  gull." 

Among  other  visitants  from  the  north  that  often 
come  to  us  in  November,  may  be  mentioned  the 
crossbills,  redpolls,  and  pine  and  evening  gros- 
beaks. The  American  and  the  white-winged  cross- 
bills are  rare  and  irregular  winter  visitants,  the 
redpoll  (acanthis  linaria)  is  a  common  winter  resi- 
dent, and  the  pine  and  evening  grosbeaks  are 
irregular  winter  visitants,  the  latter  being  the  more 
common. 

Some  years  ago  I  obtained  several  specimens  of 
the  American  crossbill  in  northern  Indiana,  where 
I  found  a  large  flock  of  them  feeding  in  the  woods. 
They  are  not  infrequently  found  north  of  Chicago 
in  the  woods  bordering  Lake  Michigan.  These 
little  birds  are  slightly  smaller  than  the  English 
sparrow.  Their  upper  and  lower  mandibles  are 
crossed  at  the  tip, — whence  the  name.  The  plum- 
age is  dull  red,  brighter  on  the  rump,  \vith  dark 
gray  wings  and  tail.  They  always  go  about  in 
flocks,  and  against  a  back  ground  of  snow  a  group 
of  these  little  red  birds  makes  as  delightful  a  winter 


The  Birds  and  Poets  197 

picture  as  one  ever  sees.  They  are  very  erratic 
little  wanderers  coming  upon  us  oftimes  unexpect- 
edly and  unannounced  from  the  coniferous  forests 
of  the  north.  They  seem  to  have  no  regard  for  the 
laws  of  migration,  and  aimlessly  wander  about  in 
small  groups,  pausing  only  at  those  places  which 
afford  them  favorable  opportunities  for  feeding. 
They  climb  about  in  trees  like  parrots,  and  their 
crossed  bills  are  well  adapted  to  aid  them  in  open- 
ing the  scaled  cones  of  coniferous  trees  to  obtain 
the  seeds  within. 

The  well  known  legend  of  this  little  bird,  which 
relates  how  it  tried  to  pull  the  nails  out  of  the  Cross 
with  its  bill,  is  told  in  a  translation  by  Longfellow 
from  the  German  of  Julius  Mosen: 

"On  the  cross  the  dying  Saviour 

Heavenward  lifts  His  eyelids  calm, 
Feels,  but  scarcely  feels,  a  trembling 
In  His  pierced  and  bleeding  palm. 

And  by  all  the  world  forsaken, 

Sees  He  how  with  zealous  care 

At  the  ruthless  nail  of  iron 

A  little  bird  is  striving  there. 

Stained  with  blood  and  never  tiring, 
With  its  beak  it  doth  not  cease, 

From  the  cross  'twould  free  the  Saviour, 
Its  Creator's  Son  release. 

And  the  Saviour  speaks  in  mildness; 
'Blessed  be  thou  of  all  the  good! 


198  Twelve  Months  With 

Bear,  as  token  of  this  moment, 

Marks  of  blood  and  holy  rood!' 

And  that  bird  is  called  the  crossbill; 

Covered  all  with  blood  so.  clear, 
In  the  groves  of  pine  it  singeth 

Songs,  like  legends,  strange  to  hear." 

The  redpoll,  sometimes  called  snowbird,  is 
much  more  common,  and  may  be  seen  almost  any 
winter  after  the  first  of  November.  This  bird  has 
a  red  crown  cap  sometimes  rather  inconspicuous, 
and  the  breast  and  rump  are  tinged  with  pink  and 
the  rest  of  the  plumage  is  grayish  brown.  He  is 
about  the  size  of  the  goldfinch,  which  he  resem- 
bles somewhat  in  general  habits.  These  birds  are 
often  seen  feeding  upon  dry  weeds  and  grasses  that 
protrude  through  the  snow.  Indeed,  it  is  the  bury- 
ing of  these  weeds  and  grasses  by  the  heavy  snows 
in  the  north  that  drives  them  south  for  food. 
They  are  lovable  little  birds,  with  a  trustful  and 
confiding  disposition. 

How  unexpectedly  one  may  happen  upon  one  of 
the  irregular  visitants  from  the  northern  pine  for- 
ests most  any  day  in  winter  is  illustrated  by  a 
pleasant  little  adventure  I  had  one  bleak  morning 
in  November.  Hurrying  through  the  village 
streets  on  my  way  to  a  suburban  train,  an  unusual 
and  unexpected  bird  call  "ravished  my  delighted 
ear."  I  stopped  in  my  tracks, — and  forgot  my 
train! 

Bird  calls  in  November  are  sufficiently  infre- 


The  Birds  and  Poets  199 

quent  to  attract  attention.  Birds  are  numerous 
enough,  but  at  this  season  they  are  irregular  and 
their  movements  erratic,  and  few  bird  songs  are 
heard.  The  call  of  this  bird  resembled  the  clear 
familiar  chirp  of  the  robin,  and  I  immediately 
concluded  it  was  some  bird  with  the  robin's  call, 
rather  than  the  robin  itself,  although  the  latter  bird 
sometimes  surprises  us  with  a  transient  visit  in  win- 
ter. 

Hearing  the  note  again,  I  traced  the  bird  to  the 
top  of  a  tree  across  the  block  in  an  adjoining  street. 
I  walked  around  the  block,  and  into  my  neighbor's 
yard,  where  I  found  the  bird  eating  the  seeds  from 
the  dry  keys  of  a  large  maple.  As  he  moved  about 
feeding  I  caught  sight  of  his  black  wings  and  tail 
and  his  yellow  rump,  scapulars  and  belly,  and  my 
hopes  were  realized, — it  was  an  evening  grosbeak! 
I  felt  the  inspiration  of  Cale  Young  Rice,  upon 
hearing  the  unexpected  song  of  a  bird : 

"There  is  no  mountain,  here,  or  sea, 
Yet  do  I  feel  infinity, 
For  there  in  the  top  of  a  tulip-tree 
A  wild  wild  bird  is  singing  to  me! 

And  full  is  his  throat,  at  every  note, 

Of  God — until  my  heart's  afloat 

In  joy — like  every  leaf  unfurled 

By  May,  the  sweetheart  of  tHe  world." 

This  beautiful  bird,  tho'  not  often  seen,  is  eas- 
ily identified.  It  is  a  trifle  larger  than  the  oriole, 


200  Twelve  Months  With 

and  has  the  thick  heavy  bill  of  the  finch  and  spar- 
row family.  Its  beautiful  yellow  and  black  plum- 
age make  its  identification  simple,  for  at  this  season 
of  the  year  it  cannot  be  confused  with  any  other 
bird. 

In  addition  to  the  robin-like  call,  it  also  has  a 
tree-toad  note,  similar  to  the  spring  cry  of  the  red- 
headed woodpecker. 

Its  real  song  is  "a  wandering,  jerky  warble, 
beginning  low,  suddenly  increasing  in  power,  and 
as  suddenly  ceasing,  as  though  the  singer  were  out 
of  breath."  * 

It  will  always  be  found  feeding  on  the  buds  or 
seeds  of  trees — maple,  elder  and  box  elder,  of 
which  there  is  an  abundance  in  winter.  During  the 
winters  of  1886  and  1887  there  were  rather  phe- 
nomenal incursions  of  evening  grosbeaks  into  the 
Central  States — Illinois,  Indiana  and  Michigan, — 
and  many  observations  of  them  were  recorded,  but 
of  late  they  have  been  very  irregular  and  erratic 
winter  visitants.  The  coniferous  trees  in  Grace- 
land  Cemetery,  Chicago,  have  on  numerous  occa- 
sions in  winter  attracted  these  and  other  transients 
from  the  north. 

November  is  the  month  to  begin  preparations 
for  feeding  our  bird  friends  through  the  cold  and 
stormy  days  of  winter.  Plenty  of  food  will  be 
available  until  snow  falls,  but  when  the  heavy 
snows  come  much  of  the  material  that  the  birds 
depend  upon  for  food  will  be  covered  up.  Plans 

*  Birds  of  Eastern  North  America,  p.  280. 


The  Birds  and  Poets  201 

should  therefore  be  made  not  later  than  November 
by  all  who  claim  to  be  real  lovers  of  the  birds,  to 
assist  them  in  obtaining  food  through  the  winter. 

We  would  not  think  of  allowing  any  person 
whom  we  love  to  go  hungry  if  we  could  help  them 
to  food.  We  all  love  the  birds,  and  without  doubt 
they  bring  us  a  great  deal  of  happiness,  but  unfor- 
tunately the  opinion  is  too  general  that  in  winter 
there  are  no  birds,  and  we  resolutely  shut  ourselves 
in  doors  and  hugging  the  fireside  forget  that  there 
are  hundreds  of  tiny  feathered  creatures  battling 
with  the  cold  and  struggling  for  a  bare  existence 
outside. 

Burns  remembered  and  felt  compassion  for  the 
little  winter  bird: 

"Ilk  happing  bird,  wee,  helpless  thing! 
THat  in  the  merry  months  o'  spring 
Delighted  me  to  hear  thee  sing, 

What  comes  o'  thee? 
Whare  wilt  thou  cow'r  thy  clittering  win' 

An'  close  thy  ee?" 

When  we  recall  how  the  birds  have  delighted  us 
in  the  "merry  months  of  spring,"  it  should  require 
no  argument  to  convince  us  that  as  a  matter  of  sim- 
ple justice  we  should  take  some  thought  of  their 
welfare  at  this  season. 

Mable  Osgood  Wright  in  "Bird-Lore"  for  Jan- 
uary, 1909,  makes  an  appeal  for  our  winter  birds 
which  should  be  heeded  by  all  their  friends: 


2O2  Twelve  Months  With 

"As  birds  do  not  push  trembling  hands  in  our  faces 
and  clamor  for  charity,  we  forget  their  needs,  and 
they  too  often  disappear,  deprived  of  natural  food 
and  shelter  by  the  very  march  of  the  civilization  of 
which  we  are  proud. 

If  they  cannot  speak  for  themselves,  their  friends 
should  never  cease  to  do  it  for  them  in  the  same  old 
words,  winter  after  winter.  'Do  not  clear  away  the  wild 
hedges;  leave  some  shocks  of  corn  in  your  field,  scatter 
grain  sweepings  in  likely  places,  fasten  suet  to  your 
orchard  tree,  and  spread  a  lunch-counter  under  your 
window,  out  of  the  reach  of  cats!'  Do  not  use  that 
irresponsible  argument,  'There  are  never  any  birds 
in  winter  where  I  live,'  for  if  there  are  none  the  respon- 
sibility is  yours  for  not  aiding  them  to  be  there.  For 
we  are  all  keepers  of  our  brother,  in  one  sense  or 
another,  and  the  larger  brotherhood  includes  all  forms 
of  sensate  life.  When  we  deliberately  shirk  responsi- 
bility we  have  ceased  to  live  in  the  best  sense." 

Many  different  plans  have  been  suggested  and 
adopted  for  feeding  the  birds  in  winter.  In  some 
places  large  organizations  have  been  formed 
among  people  interested  in  birds  and  extensive 
plans  worked  out  for  feeding  them  and  encour- 
aging them  to  remain  in  the  neighborhood  during 
the  winter.  In  addition  to  feeding  devices  erected 
about  the  homes,  general  feeding  places  have  been 
established  in  adjacent  fields  and  woods,  and  in 
almost  all  such  cases  the  number  of  winter  birds 
observed  in  the  particular  locality  has  been  very 
largely  increased.  Where  these  community  plans 


The  Birds  and  Poets  203 

have  been  adopted  the  interest  of  the  school  chil- 
dren has  often  been  enlisted,  and  the  larger  boys 
engaged  to  assist  in  maintaining  the  feeding 
grounds.  The  usual  plan  is  to  clear  away  the 
snow  from  a  patch  of  ground  fifteen  or  twenty 
feet  square,  and  then  scatter  seeds,  nuts,  suet  and 
scraps  and  crumbs  from  the  table.  The  ground 
should,  of  course,  be  kept  clear  of  snow,  and  the 
supply  of  food  should  be  replenished  daily.  A 
number  of  such  feeding  places  should  be  main- 
tained at  reasonable  distances  apart,  adjacent  to 
the  town  or  village,  and  when  this  general  com- 
munity plan  is  supplemented  by  the  maintenance 
of  individual  feeding  stands  at  the  homes  in  the 
neighborhood,  the  increase  in  the  number  of 
winter  birds  will  be  gratifying. 

In  this  way  many  good  people  living  in  this 
latitude,  believing  that  there  are  no  birds  in  winter 
except  the  English  sparrows,  have  come  to  know 
that  while  the  birds  are  mostly  silent  and  in  seclu- 
sion, there  are  a  number  of  varieties  which  are 
common  residents. 

Although  this  general  community  plan  of  feed- 
ing the  birds  may  not  always  be  feasible,  there 
is  no  reasonable  excuse  to  be  offered  for  any  real 
lover  of  the  birds  who  wholly  forgets  them  in 
winter  and  does  not  provide  a  feeding  box  or  tray 
near  his  home.  A  rough  box,  open  at  one  side, 
set  above  the  ground,  out  of  the  reach  of  cats,  at 
a  short  distance  from  the  house,  is  all  that  is 
necessary.  After  the  birds  find  the  food  and 


204  Twelve  Months  With 

become  accustomed  to  the  surroundings,  a  tray 
may  be  built  at  the  window  sill,  and  the  birds 
will  surely  find  it  and  will  ultimately  become 
quite  tame.  A  roof  to  keep  off  the  snow  is  desir- 
able, and  a  very  attractive  one  for  the  birds  may 
be  made  out  of  heavy  branches  of  coniferous  trees. 
I  have  also  found  that  the  nuthatches  and  wood- 
peckers prefer  to  peck  nuts  out  of  upright  limbs 
or  posts,  and  I  have  accommodated  them  by  boring 
small  holes  in  the  supports  of  my  bird  tray,  and 
tucking  pieces  of  the  nuts  into  them.  This  plan 
has  the  added  advantage  of  protecting  the  food 
from  the  ubiquitous  English  sparrow,  who  is 
wholly  unable  to  walk  up  and  down  a  perpen- 
dicular surface,  howsoever  hungry  he  may  be. 

Suet  hung  by  a  string  from  the  lower  branches 
of  a  tree,  or  tied  around  the  limbs,  is  always  an 
attractive  food.  Grain  and  nuts,  especially  pea- 
nuts, will  be  eaten  by  most  any  of  the  winter  birds. 
In  cold  weather,  meat  scraps  are  acceptable,  and 
in  line  with  modern  ideas  of  conservation  and 
prevention  of  waste  it  would  seem  more  reason- 
able to  place  scraps  of  toast  and  crumbs  from  the 
table  just  outside  one's  window  for  the  birds, 
rather  than  in  the  garbage  can.  I  have  found 
that  the  occasional  cardinal  that  comes  my  way 
in  winter  is  very  fond  of  cantaloup  seeds,  and  I 
therefore  save  them  every  summer,  and  I  dare 
say  my  summer  appetite  for  cantaloup  is  sharp- 
ened by  the  thought  that  the  seeds  may  attract  a 
cardinal  to  my  window  when  the  snows  come. 


The  Birds  and  Poets  205 

It  is  an  excellent  plan  to  have  a  box  or  two 
near  the  birds'  lunch  counter,  with  openings  large 
enough  to  admit  the  hairy  woodpecker,  because 
in  the  extremely  cold  weather  the  winter  birds 
spend  most  of  the  time  under  cover,  if  they  can 
find  any,  and  if  they  find  both  board  and  lodging 
at  the  same  place  they  appreciate  it,  and  make 
use  of  the  advantages  offered  them. 

Chickadees,  nuthatches,  hairy  and  downy  wood- 
peckers, tree  sparrows,  juncos  and  cardinals  are 
frequently  attracted  to  these  feeding  stations,  and 
the  English  sparrow  may  be  counted  on  as  a  regu- 
lar daily  visitor.  The  latter  bird,  though  usually 
considered  a  pest,  is  just  as  welcome  to  my  feed 
box  as  any  of  the  rest,  and  my  own  experience 
is  that  instead  of  driving  other  birds  away,  his 
boldness  in  feeding  off  the  window  ledge  often 
attracts  other  birds  to  it.  I  am  proud  of  my  little 
winter  colony  of  fat  English  sparrows!  Although 
this  little  emigrant  has  few  friends  even  among 
the  ornithologists,  he  is  not  wholly  friendless 
among  the  poets.  With  all  his  faults,  Mary 
Isabella  Forsyth  loves  him  still: 

"From  dawn  until  daylight  grows  dim, 

Perpetual  chatter  and  scold. 
No  winter  migration  for  him, 

Not  even  afraid  of  the  cold! 

Yet,  from  tip  of  his  tail  to  his  beak, 

I  like  him,  the  sociable  elf. 
The  reason  is  needless  to  seek,  — 

Because  I'm  a  gossip  myself." 


206  With  the  Birds  and  Poets 

Walter  Von  der  Vogelweide,  the  greatest  lyric 
poet  of  Germany  until  Goethe,  is  said  to  have 
acquired  his  art  from  the  birds,  and  Longfellow 
has  perpetuated  the  pretty  legend  concerning  the 
poet's  grave.  It  is  said  to  have  been  provided  in 
his  will  that  the  birds  should  be  fed  daily  at  noon 
upon  the  slab  which  covers  his  resting  place: 

"Thus  the  bard  of  love  departed: 

And,  fulfilling  his  desire, 
On  his  tomb  the  birds  were  feasted 
By  the  children  of  the  choir." 


DECEMBER. 

In  a  drear-nighted  December, 

Too  happy,  happy  Tree, 
Thy  branches  ne'er  remember 

Their  green  felicity; 
The  north  cannot  undo  them 
With  a  sleety  whistle  through  them, 
Nor  frozen  thawings  glue  them 

From  budding  at  the  prime. 

In  a  drear-nighted  December, 

Too  happy,  happy  Brook, 
Thy  bubblings  ne'er  remember 

Apollo's  summer  look; 
But  with  a  sweet  forgetting, 
They  stay  their  crystal  fretting, 
Never,  never  petting 

About  the  frozen  time. 

— John  Keats. 


LIVER   WENDELL    HOLMES 

once  said :  "Those  who  are  really 
awake  to  the  sights  and  sounds 
which  the  procession  of  the  months 
offers  them,  find  endless  entertain- 
ment and  instruction.  Yet  there 
are  great  multitudes  who  are  present  at  as  many  as 
threescore  and  ten  performances,  without  ever 
really  looking  at  the  scenery,  or  listening  to  the 
music,  or  observing  the  chief  actors." 

This    observation    seems   especially   true   with 


208  Twelve  Months  With 

reference  to  the  birds,  their  songs  and  nests.  If 
one  should  attempt  to  name  a  half  dozen  among 
his  friends  who  possess  even  an  amateur's  knowl- 
edge of  our  common  birds  and  their  habits,  he 
would  find  the  task  difficult,  if  not  impossible. 
When  we  consider  that  the  study  of  birds  offers 
such  "endless  entertainment  and  instruction,"  and 
that  it  takes  the  student  out  into  the  woods  and 
fields,  through  the  grass  and  flowers  in  summer, 
and  through  the  white  snow  in  winter,  when 


«*     *     the  pOOrest  twig  on  the  elm  tree 
Is  ridged  inch  deep  with  pearl,"  — 

one  wonders  at  the  lack  of  interest  in  this  whole- 
some subject.  Of  course  we  are  all  much  too  busy 
nowadays  collecting  dollars  to  turn  aside  and 
collect  anything  else,  even  so  much  as  ideas  about 
other  things!  But,  after  all,  the  truly  wise  man 
is  he  who  always  finds  time  for  those  broadening 
and  deepening  influences  which  one  never  seeks  in 
vain  in  the  woods  and  fields. 

"In  the  urgent  solitudes 
Lies  the  spur  to  larger  moods." 

In  some  respects  the  winter  months  are  more 
favorable  for  bird  study  than  summer,  because 
when  trees  are  bare  and  many  of  the  birds  have 
flown,  the  work  of  the  student  is  naturally  more 
simple. 


The  Birds  and  Poets  209 

In  the  dense  luxuriant  foliage  of  midsummer 
the  casual  observer  seldom  sees  a  bird's  nest  in 
tree  or  bush,  tho'  there  may  be  hundreds  of  them 
near  at  hand.  When  December  comes  a  large 
number  of  nests  are  exposed  which  have  been 
securely  hidden  all  summer,  and  the  art  of  the 
birds  in  concealing  their  little  domiciles  is 
revealed. 

I  never  walk  in  the  woods  in  early  winter  that 
I  am  not  attracted  by  these  old  exposed  nests. 
Snow-crowned,  against  the  gray  winter  sky,  they 
glow  like  white  lights  in  a  fog.  Rose  Terry  Cook 
sings  of  the  snow-filled  nest: 

"All,  all  are  gone!     I  know  not  where; 
And  still  upon  the  cold  gray  tree, 
Lonely,  and  tossed  by  every  air 
That  snow-filled  nest  I  see." 

Aside  from  the  birds  themselves,  there  is  no 
subject  of  greater  interest  to  the  student  than  the 
birds'  homes. 

Lowell's  heart  is  touched  to  reminiscent  mood 
by  the  old  nest,  which  he  loves  for  what  it  has 
been: 

"Like  some  lorn  abbey  now,  the  wood 
Stands  roofless  in  the  bitter  air; 
In  ruins  on  its  floor  is  strewed 

The  carven  foliage  quaint  and  rare, 
And  homeless  winds  complain  along 
The  columned  choir  once  thrilled  with  song. 


210  Twelve  Months  With 

And  thou,  dear  nest,  whence  joy  and  praise 
The  thankful  oriole  used  to  pour, 

Swing'st  empty  while  the  north  winds  chase 
Their  snowy  swarms  from  Labrador : 

But,  loyal  to  the  happy  past, 

I  love  thee  still  for  what  thou  wast." 

In  the  same  spirit  Joseph  Howe  writes  of  the 
old  deserted  nest,  as  attractive  to  the  poet's  eye: 

"Deserted  nest,  that  on  the  leafless  tree 

Waves  to  and  fro  with  every  dreary  blast, 
With  none  to  shelter,  none  to  care  for  thee, 
Thy  day  of  pride  and  cheerfulness  is  past. 

Thy  tiny  walls  are  falling  to  decay, 

Thy  cell  is  tenantless  and  tuneless  now, 

The  winter  winds  have  rent  the  leaves  away, 
And  left  thee  hanging  on  the  naked  bough. 

But  yet,  deserted  nest,  there  is  a  spell, 

E'en  in  thy  loneliness,  to  touch  the  heart, 

For  holy  things  within  thee  once  did  dwell, 
The  type  of  joys  departed  now  thou  art. 

Then  though  thy  walls  be  rent,  and  cold  thy  cell, 
And  thoughtless  crowds  may  hourly  pass  thee  by, 

Where  love  and  truth  and  tenderness  did  dwell, 
There's  still  attraction  for  the  poet's  eye." 

In  addition  to  this  appeal  to  the  imagination 
which  the  abandoned  nest  always  brings,  with 
speculations  as  to  the  home  life  which  has  glori- 


The  Birds  and  Poets  211 

fied  it,  the  mere  examination  of  the  structure  of 
the  different  varieties  of  nests  within  easy  reach 
in  the  winter  thickets  seldom  fails  to  reveal  some- 
thing of  interest.  One  December  day  I  found  an 
old  thrush's  nest  in  the  woods,  and  upon  pulling 
it  apart  discovered  embedded  in  the  bottom  a  small 
piece  of  faded  newspaper.  The  printing  was 
scarcely  discernible,  but  I  was  able  to  decipher 
a  few  lines  about  a  modern  design  of  shotgun, 
which  was  stated  to  be  very  much  superior  to  the 
older  models, — and  on  the  reverse  side  of  the  scrap 
the  only  words  that  were  distinct  were  "Would 
you  run?"  And  this  advertisement  of  a  modern 
death-dealing  weapon  found  its  way  into  the  little 
home  of  the  thrush !  One  might  in  his  fancy  trace 
those  printed  lines  from  the  little  nest  in  the  forest 
back  to  the  news-stand,  and  to  the  printing  office, 
then  perchance  to  the  desk  of  the  man  who  penned 
the  words,  little  thinking  they  ultimately  would 
be  woven  into  the  texture  of  a  bird's  home. 

Scraps  of  paper  and  cloth  are  frequently  found 
interwoven  into  the  texture  of  nests  of  various 
birds.  One  day  in  May,  while  seated  on  my  sum- 
mer porch,  a  sharp  storm  came  up,  and  a  robin's 
nest  in  an  elm  tree  near  by  was  blown  down  upon 
the  cement  walk,  and  four  young  featherless,  help- 
less birds  tumbled  to  their  death.  As  I  could  do 
nothing  to  restore  the  little  robin  household,  I 
contented  myself  with  examining  the  nest,  and  at 
the  base  of  it,  under  the  mud,  I  found  a  piece  of 
white  cloth  as  large  as  a  handkerchief.  How  the 


212  Twelve  Months  With 

robin  ever  managed  to  carry  it  into  the  tree  is  a 
mystery. 

Almost  every  catbird's  nest  by  the  roadside  has 
scraps  of  paper  interlaid  with  the  sticks  and  other 
building  material,  perhaps  for  the  same  reason 
that  the  building  contractor  inserts  paper  between 
the  supporting  walls  of  man's  habitation. 

I  once  found  a  small  mummified  hyla  in  an  old 
thrush's  nest.  It  was  impossible  to  tell  by  what 
means  he  had  come  to  his  untimely  end.  These 
little  tree  frogs  frequently  make  an  hibernaculum 
under  the  leaf  mold  in  winter,  and  as  it  was  only 
late  autumn,  perhaps  he  had  hopped  into  the 
abandoned  nest  as  a  temporary  abode  until  winter 
should  come,  and  through  some  mishap  it  had 
become  his  tomb. 

In  old  shrikes'  nests  I  have  sometimes  found 
the  small  bones  of  little  birds  which  have  been 
carried  to  the  shambles  by  these  feathered  canni- 
bals, and  slaughtered  without  mercy. 

Many  deserted  nests  in  winter  are  found  full  of 
the  hulls  of  grain,  nuts  and  acorns,  where  mice 
and  squirrels  have  dined.  Other  nests  have  nuts 
and  acorns  tucked  away  among  the  twigs,  where 
they  have  been  stored  for  the  future  use  of  some 
thrifty  inhabitant  of  the  woodlands.  Both  field 
mice  and  squirrels  sometimes  appropriate  old 
birds'  nests  and  roof  them  over  with  grass  and 
leaves,  and  after  building  an  addition  or  two  along 
the  lines  of  mouse  or  squirrel  architecture,  pro- 


The  Birds  and  Poets  213 

ceed  to  occupy  the  warm  but  incongruous  structure 
through  the  winter. 

It  is  interesting  to  note  that  while  man's  imme- 
diate ancestors  originally  occupied  the  trees,  and 
in  the  process  of  evolution  became  terrestrial 
animals,  the  bird's  immediate  ancestors  were 
originally  terrestrial,  and  in  the  process  of  evolu- 
tion many  of  them  became  tree  dwellers.  Man's 
conquest  over  the  forces  of  nature  has  enabled 
him  to  live  in  comparative  safety  on  the  earth's 
surface,  whereas  many  of  the  birds  still  seek 
refuge  from  their  natural  enemies  in  the  pro- 
tective tree  tops. 

Even  among  the  fishes  and  reptiles  from  which 
it  is  said  the  birds  have  descended,  the  habit  of 
nest  building  is  not  unknown.  Among  the  fishes, 
both  sexes  of  the  bright-colored  Crenilabrus  massa 
and  melops  work  together  in  building  their  nests 
with  seaweed,  shells,  etc.  The  stickleback  (G. 
leiurus)  also  builds  a  nest,  and  the  male  of  the 
species  performs  the  duties  of  a  nurse  with  exem- 
plary care  and  vigilance  during  a  long  time,  and 
is  continually  employed  in  gently  leading  the 
young  back  to  the  nest  when  they  stray  too  far.* 

Many  of  the  reptiles  deposit  their  eggs  in  the 
sand  near  the  edge  of  the  water,  taking  quite  as 
much  care  in  depositing  and  protecting  them  as 
some  of  our  shore  and  water  birds.  Many  of  our 
shore  birds  exhibit  striking  structural  resemblances 
to  their  reptile  ancestors,  in  their  long  legs  and 

*  Darwin,  Descent  of  Man,  2nd  Ed.,  p.  391. 


214  Twelve  Months  With 

bills,  and  their  nesting  habits  also  seem  to  indicate 
their  reptilian  origin.  Few  of  these  birds  build 
elaborate  nests.  Many  merely  lay  their  eggs  in 
the  sand  or  gravel,  after  the  manner  of  a  snake 
or  turtle,  but  they  have  made  some  advance  over 
their  ancient  progenitors  in  the  matter  of  incuba- 
tion, as  they  sit  upon  their  eggs,  and  do  not  depend 
upon  the  sun  to  hatch  them. 

The  higher  we  go  in  the  order  of  nature,  the 
greater  is  the  attachment  to  home  and  family,  and 
the  more  highly  developed  the  species  of  birds, 
the  more  attention  do  we  find  given  to  the  nest 
and  eggs. 

In  most  cases  perhaps  the  nest  should  be  called 
the  nursery  rather  than  the  home,  because,  with 
few  exceptions,  there  is  little  real  abiding  affection 
for  nest,  young  or  mate.  Among  our  birds  only 
the  eagle  and  the  osprey  mate  for  life.  While 
the  higher  order  of  our  song  birds  mate  for  the 
season,  if  one  of  a  pair  disappears  during  the 
nesting  time,  its  place  is  usually  filled  by  another 
within  a  few  hours,  and  among  the  lower  orders 
of  birds,  polygamy  is  common. 

The  greatest  devotion  to  home  and  family  is 
found  in  those  species  whose  young  are  helpless 
when  hatched.  They  are  called  altrices  or  altri- 
cials,  as  distinguished  from  praecoses  or  precocials, 
who  run  or  swim  as  soon  as  they  are  born.  Altrices 
is  derived  from  the  Latin  altrix,  meaning  "to 
nurse."  The  precocials  therefore  may  be  called 
chicks,  and  the  altricials,  nestlings.  Among  the 


The  Birds  and  Poets  215 

former  may  be  mentioned  quail,  grouse,  sand- 
pipers, snipe  and  plover,  and  among  the  latter, 
bluebirds,  robins,  sparrows  and  all  our  song  birds. 
The  precocial  chicks  are  born  covered  with 
feathers  or  down,  and  actively  toddle  about  as 
soon  as  they  break  through  the  shell.  I  once 
found  a  nest  of  the  spotted  sandpiper  with  four 
eggs  in  it,  and  upon  returning  only  one  week  later 
discovered  that  all  the  young  birds  had  hatched 
and  run  away. 

The  altricials,  on  the  other  hand,  are  born  naked 
and  helpless,  blind  and  dumb,  and  require  the 
most  careful  and  protracted  nursing  to  bring  them 
to  the  self-supporting  stage.  In  this  nurturing 
process,  of  course,  the  family  tie  is  strengthened, 
and  the  nest  of  an  altricial  is  at  least  a  nursery, 
and  not  a  mere  precocial  birthplace.  In  some 
instances  the  birds  show  considerable  affection  for 
the  nest  itself  long  after  the  young  are  gone  and 
the  nesting  season  is  over,  roosting  upon  or  near 
it  until  migration. 

Some  birds  use  their  nest  homes  for  rearing  two 
or  three  little  broods  during  the  summer,  and  some 
return  to  the  old  home  the  following  season.  The 
eagle,  if  not  molested,  returns  to  the  old  nest  year 
after  year,  adding  a  few  sticks  each  season  until 
it  often  becomes  of  enormous  size  and  thickness. 

It  requires  about  five  weeks  for  a  pair  of  robins 
to  build  a  nest  and  nurse  the  first  little  family 
to  the  point  where  they  can  fly,  and  if  the  parent 
birds  rear  two  or  three  broods  from  the  same  nest, 


216  Twelve  Months  With 

as  sometimes  happens,  they  acquire  some  love  of 
home  and  family. 

Among  the  precocial  grouse  and  quail  the  old 
birds  look  after  their  active  little  chicks  and 
teach  them  the  ways  of  the  wicked  world  and  how 
to  feed  and  protect  themselves,  with  a  truly 
parental  solicitude.  The  altricials  of  necessity 
build  more  safe  and  secure  nests,  because  of  the 
helpless  condition  of  their  young  families,  whereas 
some  of  the  precocials  build  none  at  all.  But  even 
among  the  former  the  cuckoos,  doves  and  herons 
build  a  rude  nest  of  a  few  scattered  sticks,  through 
which  one  may  often  see  the  eggs.  The  altricial 
cowbird,  the  degenerate,  builds  no  nest  at  all,  but 
foists  her  eggs  and  her  helpless  young  nestlings 
upon  some  unsuspecting  sparrow,  warbler  or 
vireo. 

Each  species  builds  a  characteristic  nest,  and 
all  nests  of  a  particular  species  are  very  similar, 
so  that  one  may  often  identify  a  bird  solely  by 
the  kind  of  nest  he  finds. 

Almost  all  the  trades  are  represented  among  the 
birds,  in  the  nests  they  build  for  rearing  their 
young.  An  anonymous  poet  has  left  these  lines 
referring  to  some  of  the  many  different  bird  crafts : 

"The  swallow  is  a  mason, 

And  underneath  the  eaves 
He  builds  a  nest  and  plasters  it 
With  mud  and  hay  and  leaves. 


The  Birds  and  Poets  217 

The  woodpecker  is  hard  at  work, 

A  carpenter  is  he; 
And  you  may  find  him  hammering 

His  house  high  up  a  tree. 

The  bullfinch  knows  and  practices 

The  basketmaker's  trade; 
See  what  a  cradle  for  his  young 

The  little  thing  has  made. 

Of  all  the  weavers  that  I  know, 

The  oriole's  the  best; 
High  on  the  apple  tree  he  weaves 

A  cozy  little  nest. 

The  goldfinch  is  a  fuller; 

A  skillful  workman  he ! 
Of  wool  and  threads  he  makes  a  nest 

That  you  would  like  to  see. 

Some  little  birds  are  miners, 
Some  build  upon  the  ground; 

And  busy  little  tailors,  too, 
Among  the  birds  are  found. 

The  cuckoo  laughs  to  see  them  work; 

'Not  so,'  he  says,  'we  do; 
My  wife  and  I  take  other  nests 

And  live  at  ease — cuckoo  P  ' 

Our  cuckoos  usually  build  nests,  however, 
though  it  is  said  their  eggs  are  sometimes  found 
in  the  nests  of  other  species. 


21 8  Twelve  Months  With 

Three  of  the  most  remarkable  of  the  bird  archi- 
tects are  natives  of  India,  the  land  of  the  Taj 
Mahal!  —  the  tailor  bird  (Sylvia  sutoria),  the 
hornbill  (Buceros)  and  the  sociable  grosbeak 
(Ploeceus  socius  Cuvier). 

Every  one  has  heard  of  the  tailor  bird,  that 
sews  the  edges  of  leaves  together  with  stitches  as 
regular  as  those  of  an  experienced  seamstress,  and 
then  fills  the  receptacle  with  its  nest. 

The  female  hornbill  fashions  her  nest  with 
especial  care  for  her  protection  during  incuba- 
tion. She  plasters  up  with  her  own  excrement 
the  orifice  of  the  cavity  in  which  she  sits  on  her 
eggs,  leaving  only  a  small  opening  through  which 
the  male  feeds  her,  being  thus  kept  a  close  prisoner 
during  the  whole  period  of  incubation. 

The  sociable  grosbeak  perhaps  exhibits  the  most 
remarkable  instinct  for  real  bird  architecture  of 
any  living  species.  As  many  as  eight  hundred  or 
one  thousand  of  the  nests  of  this  bird  have  been 
found  in  one  tree,  "covered  with  one  general  roof, 
resembling  that  of  a  thatched  house,  and  project- 
ing over  the  entrance  of  the  nest. 

Beneath  this  roof  there  are  many  entrances,  each 
of  which  forms,  as  it  were,  a  regular  street,  with 
nests  on  either  side,  about  two  inches  distant  from 
each  other."  * 

One  of  the  most  ingenious  and  interesting  nests 
of  the  birds  of  our  latitude  is  that  of  the  orchard 
oriole.  It  is  pensile,  or  suspended,  like  that  of 

*  Nuttall,  Birds  of  U.  S.  and  Can.,  p.  rxx. 


The  Birds  and  Poets  219 

its  cousin,  the  Baltimore,  but,  with  the  exception 
of  hair,  it  is  always  constructed  of  tough  grass, 
woven  and  platted  like  a  straw  hat,  and  the  work 
is  so  excellently  done  that  some  of  the  nests  look 
like  they  were  made  by  a  knitting  machine. 
Indeed,  the  ornithologist,  Wilson,  relates  how  a 
woman  of  his  acquaintance,  when  shown  a  nest 
of  this  bird,  enquired  "if  he  thought  it  could  be 
taught  to  darn  stockings." 

The  hanging,  gourd-shaped  nest  of  the  Balti- 
more oriole  is  a  familiar  sight  in  winter  as  it 
hangs  tenaciously  to  the  tip  of  some  drooping 
limb  through  winter  winds  and  snows. 

The  nest  of  the  oven-bird  is  unique  and  unusual. 
It  is  placed  on  the  ground,  made  of  coarse  grass, 
weed  stalks,  leaves,  etc.,  and  roofed  over,  with  the 
opening  at  the  side. 

"Daintily  the  leaves  he  tiptoes; 
Underneath  them  builds  his  oven, 
Arched  and  framed  with  last  year's  oak  leaves, 
Roofed  and  walled  against  the  rain  drops." 

The  nests  of  the  wood  pewee  and  the  humming 
bird  are  among  the  daintiest  of  all  bird  homes, 
as  well  as  the  most  difficult  to  find.  Both  resemble 
lichen-covered  knots,  and  are  lined  with  the  finest 
down,  "fine  as  the  mother's  softest  plumes  allow." 
The  ruby-throat  sometimes  weaves  into  the  lichen 
cover  of  its  nest  a  bit  of  colored  feather,  thus 
exhibiting,  as  claimed  by  some,  a  love  for  the 
beautiful.  The  nests  of  the  warblers, 


22O  Twelve  Months  With 

"Whose  habitations  in  the  tree  tops  even 
Are  half-way  houses  on  the  road  to  heaven," 

are  all  dainty  creations  and  usually  difficult  to 
find,  because  they  are  often  placed  high  in  the 
treetops. 

The  instinct  for  nest  building  persists  in  caged 
birds,  who  sometimes  in  spring  make  pitiful 
attempts  to  collect  material  about  the  cage  for 
making  a  nest.  Sarah  Orne  Jewett  writes  of  her 
caged  canary: 

"She  gathers  piteous  bits  and  shreds, 

This  solitary,  mateless  thing, 
To  patient  build  again  the  nest 

So  rudely  scattered  spring  by  spring." 

Any  one  who  has  observed  this  phenomenon,  I 
dare  say,  would  thenceforth  find  it  difficult  if  not 
impossible  to  deprive  a  bird  of  its  liberty.  Riley, 
in  humorous  dialect,  says  it  is  ridiculous  to  do 
so  when  the  woods  and  fields  are  full  of  birds: 

"Jes'  the  idy,  now,  o'layin' 
Out  your  money,  and  a-payin' 

Fer  a  wilier-cage  and  bird, 
When  the  medder-larks  is  wingin' 
Round  you,  and  the  woods  is  ringin' 
With  the  beautifullest  singin' 

That  a  mortal  ever  heard." 

The  locations  chosen  by  different  species  for 
their  nests  are  about  as  various  as  the  styles  in 


The  Birds  and  Poets  221 

nest  building.  The  bank  swallows  and  king- 
fishers and  burrowing  owls  make  excavations 
underground;  many  of  the  song  birds,  including 
sparrows,  meadowlarks,  bobolinks,  etc.,  nest  in 
the  grass;  the  warblers  usually  nest  in  the  branches 
of  bushes  or  trees;  some  of  the  shore  birds  deposit 
their  eggs  upon  the  bare  sand;  some  of  the  ducks 
construct  nests  that  float  upon  the  water;  the 
woodpeckers  bore  holes  in  the  trees  for  their 
homes;  the  swift  always  glues  its  nest  to  the  wall 
of  a  chimney;  the  nighthawk  lays  its  eggs  on  the 
bare  ground  or  a  flat  rock,  or  sometimes  on  the  roof 
of  a  building. 

Wherever  it  is  built,  and  of  whatever  materials, 
the  nest  of  a  bird  is  always  an  object  of  interest 
and  inspiration.  One  needs  but  quote  these  lines 
from  Wordsworth : 

"The  imperial  Consort  of  the  Fairy-King 
Owns  not  a  sylvan  bower,  or  gorgeous  cell 
With  emerald  floored,  and  with  purpureal  shell 
Ceilinged  and  roofed,  that  is  so  fair  a  thing 
As  this  low  structure,  for  the  tasks  of  spring 
Prepared.     *     *     *" 

When  the  secret  of  the  bird's  nest  is  disclosed, 
and  the  eggs  or  young  revealed,  one  approaching 
it  feels  that  he  may  be  violating  the  sanctity  of 
the  little  unprotected  home,  like  the  poet  who 

"*     *     *     looked  at  it  and  seemed  to  fear  it; 
Dreading,  though  wishing,  to  be  near  it." 


222  With  the  Birds  and  Poets 

There  is  woven  into  the  texture  of  the  nest 
much  that  is  not  mere  sticks  or  grass, — just  as 
there  is  in  a  home  much  that  is  not  mere  walls 
and  ceilings.  Would  that  we  might  always  look 
upon  the  building  of  a  nest  with  the  eyes  and  the 
spirit  of  the  poet  John  Vance  Cheney: 

"Weave,  bird  in  the  green,  green  leaves! 

Wind  in  with  every  thread 
The  shine  of  the  earth  and  sky; 

Twine  heaven's  blue  and  the  rose's  red, 
And  the  wind-sweet  singing  by. 

Weave,  bird  in  the  green,  green  leaves! 

The  lustre  from  east  to  west, 
The  melody  line  by  line, 

Braid  it,  shade  it,  into  the  nest, 
The  home  in  the  heart  of  the  vine. 

Weave,  bird  in  the  green,  green  leaves ! 

All  happy  color  and  sound, 
By  love's  own  cunning  curled, 

Wind  it,  bind  it,  round  and  round; 
Build  in  the  bliss  of  the  world." 


JANUARY. 

Endlessly  stretches  the  snow 

The  sun  stays  low 

The  pinched  airs  flow 

Through  shivering  tree-heads  bare, 

Scant  windy  birds  are  in  air 

And  the  lead-blue  film  is  everywhere; 

The  deeps  of  the  woods  lie  near 

The  footless  ways  are  clear 

Sconced  in  the  sleep  of  the  year. 

Glisten  and  freeze  on  field  and  pond 

The  lines  are  unbound! — 

And  the  gamut  is  stript  to  the  ends  and  beyond. 

It  is  now  that  the  four  winds  meet 
'Tis  now  that  the  world's  in  my  feet, — 
Call  of  my  heart,  be  fleet,  be  fleet! 

lo 

The  snow! 

— L.  H.  Bailey. 

OME  years  ago  an  eminent  naturalist 
said  that  January  was  a  favorable 
time  to  begin  the  study  of  birds. 
Since  then  the  same  opinion  and 
the  same  reasons  supporting  it  have 
been  urged  by  a  number  of  writers 
of  bird  literature. 

I  can  neither  agree  with  the  opinion  nor  the 
reasons  assigned  in  support  of  it.     It  is  true  that 


224  Twelve  Months  With 

birds  are  few  in  January,  as  compared  with  the 
bewildering  hordes  that  come  up  from  the  south 
in  the  springtime,  and  it  may  therefore  be  less 
difficult  to  identify  them.  It  is  also  true,  of  course, 
that  the  woods  are  bare,  and  the  birds  cannot 
hide  away  in  dense  foliage,  as  they  do  in  summer; 
but  these  facts  by  no  means  prove  that  January  is 
a  good  time  to  begin  the  study  of  birds. 

Though  the  woods  are  bare,  the  winter  birds 
are  not  always  easy  to  find,  for  they  are  generally 
quiet  and  retiring.  They  often  occupy  holes  in 
trees,  abandoned  nests  and  other  places  of  protec- 
tion during  extremely  cold  or  stormy  weather, 
venturing  forth  only  for  the  purpose  of  feeding. 
They  usually  wander  aimlessly  about  in  flocks. 
Their  habits  are  irregular,  and  their  movements 
erratic  and  uncertain.  Here  today,  they  may  be 
gone  tomorrow.  Again,  the  January  coats  of  some 
of  our  birds  are  dull  and  quite  unlike  their  well- 
marked  summer  plumage,  and  the  spring  change 
to  another  dress  would  confuse  the  student. 

The  greatest  objection,  however,  to  commencing 
bird  study  in  January  is  that  it  is  a  winter  month, 
and  the  spirit  has  not  yet  awakened  to  the  inspira- 
tion which  comes  with  the  birds  and  flowers  of 
spring.  Enthusiasm  is  even  more  important  in 
nature  study  than  in  other  pursuits,  and  to  the 
beginner  the  winter  landscape  is  sometimes 
dispiriting.  But  when 


The  Birds  and  Poets  22$ 

"The  year's  at  the  spring 

****** 

God's  in  his  heaven — 
All's  right  with  the  world!" 

It  is  then  that  we  long  for  the  woods  and  fields 
and  we  begin  the  study  of  birds  with  a  warmth 
of  zeal  that  sharpens  our  powers  of  observation 
and  perception.  Though  there  be  hosts  of  birds 
at  this  season,  and  many  that  it  may  be  difficult 
to  identify,  a  full  year  of  study  will  make  one 
familiar  with  a  goodly  number  of  the  common 
birds,  and  the  following  spring  the  identification 
of  new  acquaintances  will  be  comparatively  easy. 

By  all  means,  spring  is  the  season  in  which  to 
begin  the  study  of  birds. 

Many  of  the  erroneous  opinions  about  birds 
have  gained  currency  by  being  hastily  accepted 
and  quoted  without  personal  investigation  of  the 
subject.  Nothing  should  be  stated  as  a  fact  unless 
it  has  been  actually  observed,  and  the  opinions 
of  others  should  not  be  adopted,  and  thus  given 
added  authority,  except  they  be  verified  by  per- 
sonal experience. 

In  this  connection  I  regret  to  say  that  the 
ornithologists  themselves  are  largely  responsible 
for  some  unfounded  prejudices  which  exist  as  to 
our  most  abundant  winter  bird,  the  English  spar- 
row. That  this  hardy  little  foreigner  is  nothing 
but  an  unmitigated  nuisance  at  all  times  and  at 
all  places  seems  now  to  be  the  settled  opinion.  It 


226  Twelve  Months  With 

is  said  that  he  drives  away  other  birds,  that  he  is 
filthy  in  his  habits,  that  he  destroys  immense  quan- 
tities of  grain,  beans,  fruit,  etc.,  and  that  he  is  an 
all-around  pest! 

As  to  the  charge  of  driving  away  other  birds, 
my  own  observation  has  been  that,  considering 
their  numbers,  they  are  no  more  quarrelsome  than 
other  birds.  I  have  many  times  seen  them  worsted 
in  fights  with  little  house  wrens,  and  have  often 
observed  one  robin  scare  away  a  half  dozen  spar- 
rows with  one  fluff  of  his  wing  or  tail.  Bluebirds 
are  not  quarrelsome,  but  if  the  right  sort  of  a 
box  is  erected  in  a  suitable  place  they  will  rout 
the  sparrows  and  occupy  the  box. 

A  recent  writer  goes  to  the  ridiculous  extreme 
of  giving  statistics  as  to  the  number  of  attacks 
made  by  sparrows  on  other  birds.  Such  figures 
prove  nothing.  A  startling  table  of  this  kind 
might  be  made  as  to  a  great  many  of  our  common 
and  much  beloved  birds. 

The  statement  that  the  sparrows  drive  away  the 
other  birds  comes  with  ill  grace  from  those  who 
never  offer  an  invitation  to  the  "other  birds"  to 
nest  near  their  homes,  and  never  give  them  any 
sort  of  encouragement  or  protection,  winter  or 
summer. 

I  rejoice  to  find  one  ornithologist  who  is  not 
blinded  by  the  popular  prejudices.  Mrs.  Nellie 
B.  Doubleday  (Neltje  Blanchan,  pseud.),  in  her 
delightful  book,  "How  to  Attract  the  Birds," 
writes : 


The  Birds  and  Poets  227 

"Indeed,  a  great  deal  of  nonsense  is  talked  about 
sparrows  driving  away  other  birds.  Like  the  down- 
trodden Italian  and  other  peasants  from  the  Old 
World,  the  sparrows  are  prepared  to  live  here  where 
others  would  starve.  They  kill  no  birds.  We  are 
too  wont  to  attribute  the  results  of  our  own  misdeeds 
or  shortcomings — the  barbarities  of  millinery  fashions, 
wanton  slaughter  masquerading  as  sport,  the  lack  of 
good  bird  laws  and  the  enforcing  of  them,  where  such 
exist — upon  these  troublesome,  noisy,  quarrelsome  little 
feathered  gamins  *  *  *.  In  spite  of  the  sparrows, 
there  is  already  noticeable  a  large  increase  in  the  num- 
ber of  song  birds  wherever  protective  laws,  reinforced 
by  Audubon  Societies  and  public  sentiment  have  oper- 
ated for  even  a  few  years.  Sparrows  drive  no  birds 
from  England." 

I  know  full  well  that  the  English  sparrow's 
record  is  not  all  white.  He  is  an  untidy  little 
buster,  and  he  has  been  the  subject  of  inquiry  by 
the  United  States  Government,  and  the  statistics 
show  him  to  be  a  heavy  destroyer  of  grain,  beans, 
fruit,  etc.,  in  certain  localities.  But  what  shall 
we  say  of  the  bobolinks  that  annually  eat  thousands 
of  pounds  of  rice,  and  of  the  robins  that  often 
devastate  cherry,  olive  and  other  fruit  crops,  to 
say.  nothing  of  the  blue  jays,  blackbirds,  crows 
et  al.,  all  of  whom  enjoy  fairly  respectable  repu- 
tations? It  has  sometimes  only  been  possible  to 
save  the  California  olive  crop  from  the  hungry 
robins  by  the  most  prompt  and  vigorous  action.* 

*  Farmers'  Bui.  513,  p.  7,  IL  S.  Dept.  of  Agr. 


228  Twelve  Months  With 

These  birds  are  not  universally  condemned,  how- 
ever, because  of  the  local  damage  done  to  the  olive 
crop.  Neither  are  the  bobolinks  universally  con- 
demned because  of  the  serious  damage  done  every 
year  in  the  rice  fields  of  the  south.  On  the  con- 
trary, the  robin  and  the  bobolink  are  two  of  our 
most  beloved  birds. 

In  some  sections  of  the  country,  and  at  certain 
seasons,  from  fifty  to  sixty-five  per  cent  of  the  Eng- 
lish sparrow's  diet  consists  of  grain,*  and  in  some 
states  growing  wheat  and  oat  crops  have  been 
heavily  damaged  by  these  birds,  but  in  most  sec- 
tions where  grain  constitutes  a  considerable  portion 
of  their  food,  it  is  waste  grain,  of  no  value  to  any 
one.  No  reason  is  perceived  for  universal  con- 
demnation of  the  English  sparrow  because  of  occa- 
sional local  depredations. 

A  recent  investigation  made  by  the  Bureau  of 
Biological  Survey,  however,  shows  that  in  the 
west  these  birds  are  effective  enemies  of  the  alfalfa 
weevil,  and  that  during  the  month  of  May,  in  the 
Salt  Lake  Valley,  Utah,  thirty-six  per  cent  of  their 
food  consisted  of  alfalfa  weevils,  and  about  nine- 
teen per  cent  caterpillars,  and  that  later  in  the 
season,  from  July  i  to  15,  thirty-five  per  cent  con- 
sisted of  grasshoppers.  Furthermore,  these  spar- 
rows have  practically  exterminated  the  measuring 
caterpillars  from  our  cities,  and  they  have  been  of 
more  help  than  all  other  birds  combined  in  gather- 
ing up  the  seeds  of  noxious  weeds  about  yards  and 

»  Bull.  107,  U.  S.  Dept.  Agr.,  p.  2. 


The  Birds  and  Poets  229 

lawns.  Mr.  E.  R.  Kalmbach,  who  contributes  a 
Bulletin  from  the  Biological  Survey  on  the  investi- 
gation referred  to,  sums  up  on  the  English  sparrow 
as  follows: 

"Considering  the  various  phases  of  the  economic 
relation  of  the  English  Sparrow  to  the  alfalfa  weevil, 
it  may  safely  be  asserted  that  this  bird  is  a  most 
effective  enemy  of  the  pest.  This  is  particularly  true 
of  nestling  birds  in  May  and  June.  In  view,  how- 
ever, of  the  ability  of  this  bird  to  do  serious  damage 
(not  its  doing  it,  be  it  observed!)  to  standing  grain, 
and  to  take  heavy  toll  from  the  farmers'  chicken  feed, 
legal  protection  for  the  species  cannot  be  advocated."* 

We  are  making  some  progress!  While  legal 
protection  is  not  advocated,  the  bird  is  no  longer 
regarded  as  a  useless  "pest,"  as  he  was  only  two 
years  before  by  Mr.  Ned  Dearborn,  expert  biolo- 
gist of  the  Biological  Survey: 

"They  are  noisy,  filthy  and  destructive.  They  drive 
native  birds  from  villages  and  homesteads.  Though 
they  are  occasionally  valuable  as  destroyers  of  noxious 
insects,  all  things  considered  they  do  far  more  harm 
than  good."  f 

As  a  matter  of  common  sense  and  common 
justice  to  the  bird,  the  English  sparrow  should 
be  considered  as  purely  a  local  question.  Undoubt- 

*  Bull.  107,  U.  S.  Dept.  Agr.,  p.  56. 

t  Farmers'  Bull.  493,  U.  S.  Dept.  Agr.,  p.  24. 


230  Twelve  Months  With 

edly  in  some  country  districts,  on  account  of  their 
numbers,  they  are  very  injurious  to  grain,  and 
should  be  killed.  The  record  made  up  by  avowed 
enemies  of  the  bird,  however,  shows  that  in  most 
urban  communities  it  does  more  good  than  harm. 

The  English  sparrows  are  also  very  common, — 
which  is  always  a  misfortune  for  anything  or  any- 
body! Doubtless  many  people  are  prejudiced 
against  them  on  that  account.  The  beautiful 
dandelions  are  despised  for  the  same  reason,  but 
Lowell  has  honored  this  "dear  common  flower" 
with  one  of  the  finest  of  nature  poems. 

English  sparrow  verses  are  as  rare  as  the  birds 
are  common,  and  for  that  reason,  and  also  because 
of  its  merit,  I  quote  the  whole  of  James  J.  Daly's 
poem: 

"The  sparrow  has  no  holiday  gear, 

Nor  whistles  a  jolly  stave; 
But  in  romance  no  buccaneer 
Has  ever  been  so  brave. 

He  scorns  your  threats  and  stays  to  scoff, 

He  challenges  and  usurps. 
Does  blustering  Winter  scare  him  off? 

He  tilts  his  head  and  chirps. 

He  meets  the  North's  artilleries 

As  cool  as  Bonaparte; 
No  hungry  siege  of  frost  can  freeze 

The  courage  in  his  heart. 


The  Birds  and  Poets  231 

While  refugees  take  gentle  cheer 

In  lands  of  palm  and  spice, 
He  drudges  in  the  trenches  here 

With  wings  incased  in  ice. 

Then  when  Spring  starts  her  northern  drive 

And  Winter's  long  line  reels, 
The  foppish  refugees  arrive 

Fresh  from  the  far  Antilles. 

The  oriole,  that  gay  young  spark, 
The  thrush,  swift,  robin,  wren, 

The  martin,  and  the  meadowlark 
Come  back  to  us  again. 

And  fawning  honors  we  must  do 

Unto  this  dandy  rout. 
This  debonair,  soft-fluting  crew 

Must  drive  the  sparrow  out! 

The  gable-angle,  come  what  will, 
Must  serve  the  martin's  rest. 

The  elm-crutch  near  the  window-sill 
Must  hold  the  robin's  nest. 

The  drooping  maple-bough  must  sway 

For  the  oriole's  silken  ease. 
Woe  to  the  sparrow  that  says  nay 

To  our  sublime  decrees  I 

I  do  not  like  the  sparrow's  dress, 

It  is  as  dull  as  dirt; 
I  do  not  like  his  quarrelsomeness; 

He's  impudent  and  pert. 


232  Twelve  Months  With 

But  as  for  me,  he's  free  to  hold 

What's  his  by  gallant  fight. 
No  silver  song  or  coat  of  gold 

Shall  blind  me  to  his  right." 

Most  of  us  are  blinded  to  his  rights  by  unthink- 
ing prejudice.  He  is  entitled  to  a  square  deal, 
but  he  has  not  received  it. 

The  English  sparrows  are  our  only  constant 
daily  household  birds  in  winter,  and  we  would 
sorely  miss  them  if  they  were  gone.  While  they 
sometimes  appear  quarrelsome  among  themselves, 
they  are  really  friendly,  sympathetic  little  gossips. 
One  January  day  I  found  one  in  the  snow  beside 
the  walk,  with  one  of  its  wings  injured.  I  stooped 
to  pick  it  up,  and  as  I  was  just  closing  my  hand 
over  it,  it  fluttered  off.  It  tumbled  down  in  the 
snow  a  few  feet  away,  and  I  stopped  to  see  what 
would  happen.  In  a  moment  another  sparrow 
flew  down  beside  it  in  the  snow,  and  hopped  about 
with  sympathetic  concern,  and  soon  several  more 
joined  them,  all  making  as  much  fuss  as  a  flock 
of  crows.  One  of  them  flew  into  the  road  near  by 
and  picked  up  something  in  his  bill,  and  then  flew 
back  to  the  wounded  bird,  and  apparently  dropped 
the  material  in  the  snow  beside  it. 

The  question  of  the  usefulness  of  any  bird 
depends  upon  whether  we  consider  its  general 
aesthetic  and  economic  utility  in  nature,  or  merely 
its  tendency  under  certain  circumstances  to  destroy 


The  Birds  and  Poets  233 

what  man  in  his  vanity  considers  his  exclusive 
property. 

I  have  heard  of  a  Massachusetts  gentleman  who 
preserves  his  cherry  trees  for  the  exclusive  benefit 
of  the  robins.  If  they  do  not  eat  all  the  cherries, 
he  takes  what  is  left.  He  considers  the  fruit  more 
valuable  as  food  for  the  robins  than  for  any  other 
purpose.  It  all  depends  upon  the  point  of  view! 

Mischievous  birds  that  steal  grain  or  fruit 
always  incur  the  enmity  of  that  class  of  conscien- 
tious people  who  cut  down  their  fruit  trees  that 
the  boys  may  not  be  tempted  to  break  the  eighth 
commandment!  * 

January  is  the  month  of  typical  winter  birds. 
Some  fall  stragglers  remain  with  us  until  Decem- 
ber, and  a  few  spring  birds  arrive  as  early  as 
February,  but  January  is  the  month  of  the  real 
winter  bird. 

Some  winters  the  birds  seem  quite  abundant, 
but  they  are  never  so  numerous  that  they  may  be 
considered  commonplace.  At  this  season 

"*      *      *     no  plumed  throng 
Charms  the  woods  with  song." 

Winter  birds  are  always  rare  enough  that  a  sight 
of  one  makes  the  pulse  beat  quicker. 

Birds  in  winter  frequently  go  about  in  flocks, 
in  which  will  be  found  representatives  of  two  or 

•Wilson  Flagg,  Birds  &  Seasons,  p.  375. 


234  Twelve  Months  With 

three  species.  Tree  sparrows  and  juncos  are  often 
seen  together,  goldfinches  and  redpolls  frequently 
associate  with  one  another,  and  woodpeckers, 
nuthatches  and  chickadees  sometimes  feed  in  com- 
pany. Sufficient  food  supply  is  the  common 
anxiety  of  the  birds  in  winter,  and  the  flocking 
of  the  birds  seems  to  indicate  that  all  are  taking 
advantage  of  the  common  search  for  food.  A  few 
of  our  summer  residents,  like  the  robins,  bluebirds 
and  cardinals,  remain  with  us  during  the  winter 
in  neighborhoods  where  suitable  food  is  to  be 
found.  If  attractive  feeding  places  are  main- 
tained, the  first  heavy  snow  will  often  bring  one 
of  our  hidden  summer  favorites  "out  of  the  every- 
where into  the  here,"  as  if  he  had  suddenly  fallen 
from  the  clouds. 

One  very  cold  morning  in  December,  following 
a  heavy  snow,  a  male  robin  was  observed  eating 
the  suet  tied  to  a  limb  of  my  cherry  tree.  As  the 
temperature  was  below  zero,  he  fluffed  his  feathers 
and  squatted  down  over  his  feet,  and  seemed  very 
cheerless  and  dispirited.  I  felt  the  sentiment 
expressed  by  Mr.  Burroughs  in  his  stanza  to  the 
winter  bird: 

"O  cheery  bird  of  winter  cold, 
I  bless  thy  every  feather; 
Thy  voice  brings  back  dear  boyhood  days, 
When  we  were  gay  together." 

Thereafter  during  the  winter  the  robin  visited 
my  feeding  box  many  times,  and  we  were  sure 


The  Birds  and  Poets  235 

to  see  him  after  every  snowstorm,  when  most 
of  the  available  food  in  the  neighborhood  was 
covered  up. 

The  winter  was  exceptionally  cold,  and  there 
were  several  periods  of  high  northwest  winds,  with 
sub-zero  temperatures,  but  the  robin  was  a  fairly 
regular  boarder  at  my  pantry  window  ledge,  prov- 
ing again  that  food,  and  not  temperature,  is  the 
controling  factor  in  fall  migration. 

.  The  bird  did  not  seem  at  all  inconvenienced  by 
ordinary  winter  weather,  and  usually  appeared 
well  fed  and  happy.  He  was  quiet  most  of  the 
time,  but  one  morning,  while  perched  in  the  cherry 
tree,  I  heard  his  familiar  spring  "Chirp,  Chirp!" 
but  in  a  rather  disconsolate  key.  I  answered  him 
with  a  mimicking  whistle,  and  he  immediately 
became  greatly  excited,  chirping  loudly,  and  as 
I  continued  to  return  his  call  he  jumped  and 
twitched  about  among  the  branches,  all  aquiver 
with  eager  expectancy,  uttering  the  alarm  note 
frequently  heard  during  the  nesting  season.  This 
solitary  straggler  was  doubtless  very  lonesome  for 
his  fellows  in  the  south,  and  he  was  overjoyed 
for  the  moment,  thinking  he  had  found  one  of 
them.  He  shortly  discovered  the  fraud  and 
stopped  chirping,  in  apparent  disgust.  I  have 
often  mimicked  a  robin's  call  in  the  summer,  but 
have  seldom  been  successful  in  getting  any  response 
from  the  bird,  probably  because  the  genuine  robin 
calls  were  all  around  me,  but  this  winter  robin's 
response  was  so  sudden  as  to  startle  me.  The  lordly 


236  Twelve  Months  With 

manner  in  which  he  walked  up  and  down  the 
feeding  tray  and  pushed  the  sparrows  aside,  with- 
out so  much  as  deigning  to  glance  at  them,  showed 
pretty  clearly  that  there  was  no  very  grave  danger 
of  the  sparrows  driving  him  away,  as  they  are 
often  accused  of  doing.  The  sparrows  showed  no 
signs  of  fright,  and  appeared  to  acknowledge  the 
robin's  superior  rights,  which  he  calmly  accepted 
with  becoming  dignity,  and  even  friendliness. 
One  day  during  a  cold  winter  rainstorm  the  robin 
and  a  number  of  sparrows  perched  side  by  side 
in  friendly  fashion  on  a  telephone  wire,  under 
the  protecting  gable  of  the  roof. 

Long  periods  of  severe  weather  and  the  result- 
ing scarcity  of  food  sometimes  prove  too  much 
for  those  robins  that  winter  in  the  northern  por- 
tions of  their  range.  Large  numbers  were  killed 
off  by  the  severe  winter  of  1895-6  in  Tennessee 
and  Kentucky,  and  for  several  years  thereafter  the 
robins  were  not  so  abundant  in  summer  in  the 
Central  and  Northern  States. 

Upon  almost  any  country  walk  in  January 
one  may  see  a  few  crows,  one  or  all  of  the  three 
resident  woodpeckers — hairy,  downy  and  the  red- 
head,— chickadees,  nuthatches,  juncos,  tree  spar- 
rows and  blue  jays,  and  usually  a  goldfinch  or  two 
in  sombre  winter  garb  of  gray,  feeding  upon  the 
seeds  of  mullen  or  other  weeds  protruding  through 
the  snow.  Song  sparrows,  snowflakes,  Lapland 
longspurs  and  redpolls  are  less  frequently  seen. 

Emerson   describes  a  weed   as   a  plant  whose 


The  Birds  and  Poets  237 

virtues  have  not  been  discovered, — but  one  virtue 
of  the  dry  winter  weeds  which  almost  justifies 
their  existence  is  the  supply  of  seeds  they  furnish 
to  hundreds  of  these  little  winter  birds. 

The  woodpeckers  roost  at  night  and  during  bad 
weather  in  holes  in  trees,  and  they  may  sometimes 
be  observed  in  winter  cleaning  out  old  cavities 
for  roosting  purposes.  The  hairy  and  downy 
woodpeckers  are  the  more  common.  They  are 
similar  in  appearance,  but  the  downy  is  at  least 
two  inches  shorter,  and  his  feathers  have  a  fluffy, 
ruffled,  downy  appearance,  from  which  he  derives 
his  name. 

Downy  is  also  more  often  seen  outside  the 
woods,  and  he  is  not  so  noisy  and  active  as  hairy. 

Referring  to  the  wide  white  mark  along  downy's 
black  back,  Thoreau  remarked:  "His  cassock  is 
open  behind,  showing  his  white  robe." 

Joel  Benton  puts  two  winter  birds,  the  crow 
and  chickadee,  into  his  winter  picture: 

"When  the  crow  has  new  concern, 

And  early  sounds  his  raucous  note; 
And — where  the  late  witch-hazels  burn — 
The  squirrel  from  a  chuckling  throat 

Tells  that  one  larder's  space  is  filled, 
And  tilts  upon  a  towering  tree; 

And,  valiant,  quick,  and  keenly  thrilled, 
Up  starts  the  tiny  chickadee." 


238  Twelve  Months  With 

Because  of  the  size,  color,  voice  and  abundance 
of  the  crow,  he  is  perhaps  the  best  known  of  all 
our  birds.  While  he  has  many  acquaintances,  he 
has  few  friends.  He  has  incurred  the  displeasure 
of  the  farmers  by  his  fondness  for  corn,  but  in 
justice  to  the  outlaw  be  it  said  that  he  seldom 
eats  any  corn  except  when  it  is  sprouting  in  the 
fields.  On  the  other  hand,  he  is  an  efficient 
scavenger,  and  he  consumes  a  large  quantity  of 
harmful  weevils,  cutworms,  May  beetles  and  grass- 
hoppers, so  that  he  is  not  so  black  inside  as  out! 
He  is  a  merry  madcap  withal,  who  seems  to  enjoy 
his  rakish  reputation,  and  talks  noisily  about  it 
to  his  fellows. 

He  is  the  American  representative  of  the  Euro- 
pean rook.  The  rooks  are  protected  in  England 
on  account  of  their  service  to  agriculture,  not- 
withstanding the  mischief  they  do.  Mr.  Wilson 
Flagg  calls  attention  to  the  difference  in  the  atti- 
tude of  America  and  some  of  the  older  countries 
with  reference  to  the  birds: 

"The  farmers  of  Europe,  having  learned  by  ex- 
perience that  without  the  aid  of  mischievous  birds  their 
crops  would  be  sacrificed  to  the  more  destructive  insect 
race,  forgive  them  their  trespasses  as  we  forgive  the 
trespasses  of  cats  and  dogs,  who  in  the  aggregate  are 
vastly  more  destructive  than  birds.  The  respect  shown 
to  birds  by  any  people  seems  to  bear  a  certain  ratio  to 
the  antiquity  of  the  nation.  Hence  the  sacredness  with 
which  they  are  regarded  in  Japan,  where  the  popula- 
tion is  so  dense  that  the  inhabitants  would  not  consent 


The  Birds  and  Poets  239 

to  divide  the  products  of  their  fields  with  the  feathered 
race  unless  their  usefulness  had  been  demonstrated."* 

During  many  years  of  persecution  the  crow  has 
developed  a  cunning  and  sagacity  that  is  remark- 
able. He  seems  to  be  able  accurately  to  judge, 
upon  the  approach  of  any  person,  whether  his 
intentions  are  hostile  or  friendly.  He  pays  no 
particular  attention  to  children  or  others  aimlessly 
wandering  about  the  woods,  but  he  immediately 
becomes  as  wild  as  a  hare  when  a  hunter  attempts 
to  approach  him.  This  wariness  and  cunning 
should  be  considered  more  of  a  virtue  than  a  vice, 
however,  because,  surrounded  by  all  sorts  of  perils, 
it  has  been  necessary  to  his  very  existence. 

While  the  crow  has  never  been  regarded  as  a 
handsome  fellow,  at  close  range  he  makes  a  very 
pleasing  appearance  in  his  glossy  black  plumage 
with  its  purple  reflections.  The  poise  of  the  head 
and  the  stately,  graceful  gait  give  him  a  grave 
and  dignified  appearance  as  he  stalks  about  the 
fields. 

Robert  Burns  Wilson  makes  him  the  subject  of 
a  graceful  and  befitting  sonnet: 

"Bold,  amiable,  ebon  outlaw,  grave  and  wise ! 
For  many  a  good  green  year  hast  thou  withstood — 
By   dangerous,  planted  field  and  haunted  wood — 
All  the  devices  of  thine  enemies. 
Gleaning  thy  grudged  bread  with  watchful  eyes 
And  self-relying  soul.    Come  ill  or  good, 

*  Birds  &  Seasons,  p.  379. 


240  Twelve  Months  With 

Blithe  days,  thou  see'st,  thou  feathered  Robin  Hood  I 
Thou  mak'st  a  jest  of  farm-land  boundaries. 
Take  all  thou  may'st,  and  never  count  it  crime 
To  rob  the  greatest  robber  of  the  earth; 
Weak-visioned,  dull,  self-lauding  man,  whose  worth 
Is  in  his  own  esteem.     Bide  thou  thy  time ; 
Thou  knowest  far  more  of  Nature's  lore  than  he, 
And  her  wise  lap  shall  still  provide  for  thee." 

Our  common  nuthatches,  both  of  which  are 
permanent  residents,  are  the  white-breasted  and 
the  red-breasted.  Both  have  characteristic  notes, 
consisting  of  a  nasal  "Yank!  Yank!"  in  an  alto 
key,  but  the  notes  of  the  white-breast  are  decidedly 
the  more  vigorous,  and  he  is  a  third  larger  than 
his  cousin,  the  red-breast.  Because  of  his  won- 
derful acrobatic  feats  in  running  about  under 
limbs  and  branches,  and  along  tree  trunks,  head 
downward,  the  nuthatch  has  sometimes  been  called 
"Devil-down-head." 

Maurice  Thompson  describes  him  thus: 

"The  busy  nuthatch  climbs  his  tree, 
Around  the  great  bole  spirally, 

Peeping  into  wrinkles  gray, 
Under  ruffled  lichens  gay, 

Lazily  piping  one  sharp  note 
From  his  silver  mailed  throat." 

When  in  his  downward  course  he  arrives  near 
the  base  of  a  tree,  he  flies  high  into  a  neighboring 


The  Birds  and  Poets  241 

tree,  and  again  heading  earthward,  proceeds  in 
spirals  round  and  round,  ever  moving  downward, 
searching  every  crevice  in  the  bark  for  the  micro- 
scopic eggs  and  larvae  of  tree  insects,  upon  which 
he  feeds.  Both  species  have  long,  sharp  bills  well 
suited  for  the  careful  search  of  the  crannies  in 
the  rough  bark  which  contain  their  food. 

Edith  M.  Thomas  has  written  an  amusing 
description  of  the  acrobatic  powers  of  the 
nuthatch : 

"Shrewd  little  haunter  of  woods  all  gray, 
Whom  I  met  on  my  walk  of  a  winter  day — 
You're  busy  inspecting  each  cranny  and  hole 
In  the  ragged  bark  of  yon  hickory  bole ; 
You  intent  on  your  task  and  I  on  the  law 
Of  your  wonderful  head  and  gymnastic  claw! 

The  woodpecker  well  may  despair  of  this  feat — 
Only  the  fly  with  you  can  compete ! 
So  much  is  clear;  but  I  fain  would  know 
How  you  can  so  reckless  and  fearless  go, 
Head  upward,  head  downward,  all  one  to  you, 
Zenith  and  nadir  the  same  in  your  view." 

The  black-capped  chickadee,  or  titmouse,  is  a 
universal  favorite.  His  tameness,  quaint  notes 
and  sprightly  ways  make  him  very  popular. 

He  is  almost  as  skillful  an  acrobat  as  his  winter 
friend,  the  nuthatch,  as  he 

"Shows  feats  of  his  gymnastic  play, 
Head  downward,  clinging  to  the  spray." 


242  Twelve  Months  With 

In  temperament  he  is  a  curious  mixture  of  friend- 
liness and  audacity.  He  seems  utterly  disdainful 
at  times  of  any  one  who  stops  to  observe  him, 
showing  him  not  the  slightest  attention.  At  other 
times  he  appears  purposely  friendly,  hopping  up 
close  to  the  observer  apparently  from  pure  love  of 
human  companionship.  He  is  so  anxious  every  one 
should  know  him  that  he  industriously  repeats  his 
own  name,  "Chick- a- dee!  Chick-a-dee-dee-dee!" 
This  is  usually  the  first  sign  of  his  presence  in 
the  neighborhood.  He  is  so  tiny  that  he  would 
be  easily  overlooked  if  it  were  not  for  his  cheery 
notes,  which  seldom  fail  to  attract  the  most  inat- 
tentive ear,  although  they  are  soft  and  ventrilo- 
quous  in  quality. 

"Far  distant  sounds  the  hidden  chickadee 
Close  at  my  side," 

is  Lowell's  accurate  description. 

In  addition  to  these  notes  from  which  he  derives 
his  name,  the  chickadee  sometimes  utters  two  very 
plaintive  notes  somewhat  resembling  those  of  the 
pewee,  though  they  are  more  cheerful  and  more 
distinctly  marked.  He  is  not  a  singing  bird,  but 
his  notes  are  cheering  and  pleasant,  and  he  utters 
them  at  all  times  of  the  year.  I  have  watched 
these  little  birds  many  hours,  both  in  summer  and 
winter,  and  they  have  never  appeared  in  the  least 
timorous  or  irritated  at  my  presence.  Many  times 
I  have  stood  within  easy  reach  of  them  as  they 


The  Birds  and  Poets  243 

tripped  about  over  and  under  leaves  and  branches, 
feeding,  but  have  never  yet  had  the  good  fortune 
to  have  one  of  them  alight  on  my  hand.  Dr. 
Chapman  tells  of  the  delight  which  has  come  to 
him  from  such  experiences: 

"On  two  occasions  chickadees  have  flown  down  and 
perched  upon  my  hand.  During  the  few  seconds  they 
remained  there  I  became  rigid  with  the  emotion  of  this 
novel  experience.  It 'was  a  mark  of  confidence  which 
seemed  to  initiate  me  into  the  ranks  of  woodland 
dwellers."* 

They  nest  in  old  woodpecker  holes,  which  they 
fill  with  the  finest  down.  The  tiny  eggs  are  white, 
marked  with  beautiful  cinnamon  brown  spots,  and 
triere  are  often  as  many  as  eight  in  a  nest. 

It  is  also  said  that  chickadees  sometimes  make 
their  own  excavations,  but  I  have  never  observed 
them  doing  this,  and  am  of  the  opinion  that  it  is 
rarely,  if  ever,  done.  Their  tiny  slender  bills 
are  adapted  to  picking  out  microscopic  objects 
from  crevices  in  the  bark  of  trees,  and  not  to 
boring  holes. 

I  have  seen  these  little  birds  on  winter  days, 
cheerily  hopping  about  in  zero  temperature  with 
the  utmost  unconcern,  when  almost  all  visible 
things  in  nature  seemed  paralyzed  with  the  cold. 
The  minute  seeds  and  insects  upon  which  they 
feed  must  constitute  a  fierce  fuel  for  their  little 


*  Birds  of  Eastern  North  America,  p.  390. 


244  Twelve  Months  With 

engines  to  enable  them  to  brave  the  rigors  of  our 
northern  winters,  apparently  with  no  suffering  or 
real  inconvenience. 

Emerson  does  homage  to  the  brave  little  mite 
in  these  lines: 

"Chic-chic-a-dee  dee !  saucy  note 
Out  of  sound  heart  and  merry  throat, 
As  if  it  said,  'Good  day,  good  sir  1 
Fine  afternoon,  old  passenger! 
Happy  to  meet  you  in  these  places, 
Where  January  brings  few  faces.' 

Here  was  this  atom  in  full  breath, 
Hurling  defiance  at  vast  death; 
This  scrap  of  valor  just  for  play 
Fronts  the  north-wind  in  waist  coat  gray. 

'You  pet!  what  dost  here?  and  what  for? 
In  these  woods,  thy  small  Labrador, 
At  this  pinch,  wee  San  Salvador! 
What  fire  burns  in  that  little  chest 
So  frolic,  stout  and  self-possesst?'  ' 

And  Trowbridge  remembers  him  as  a  cheerful 
winter  bird: 

"But  cheerily  the  chickadee 
Singeth  to  me  on  fence  and  tree; 
The  snow  sails  round  him  as  he  sings, 
White  as  the  down  of  angels'  wings." 

The  chickadee  roosts  at  night  in  the  soft  lining 
of  old  nests,  after  the  manner  of  the  woodpeckers, 


The  Birds  and  Poets  245 

where  he  is  safe  and  secure  from  the  winter  blasts. 
Other  birds  in  winter  resort  to  old  nests  for  warmth 
and  protection  from  the  rigors  of  the  weather. 
Goldfinches  sometimes  roost  in  old  orioles'  nests. 
Mr.  Frank  M.  Woodruff,  Curator  of  the  Academy 
of  Sciences,  in  Lincoln  Park,  Chicago,  has  an  old 
oriole's  nest,  from  which  a  dead  goldfinch  is  sus- 
pended. After  roosting  in  the  nest  he  apparently 
hanged  himself  by  flying  out  through  a  noose  at 
the  top  of  the  nest. 

Many  holes  about  barns  and  outbuildings  are 
used  by  all  sorts  of  birds  in  winter  for  roosting 
purposes,  but  the  birds  are  early  risers,  and  their 
sleeping  quarters  are  not  often  discovered. 

I  have  even  observed  sparrows  clustering  about 
arc  lights  in  the  street  at  roosting  time,  evidently 
for  the  twofold  purpose  of  securing  protection 
from  the  winter  winds,  and  warmth  from  the 
lights. 

The  northern  shrike,  or  butcher-bird,  sometimes 
spends  the  winter  in  this  latitude.  I  knew  of  one 
that  lived  through  a  cold  winter  at  Highland 
Park,  Illinois,  and  waxed  fat  upon  English  spar- 
rows, slain  with  deliberate  cruelty  and  eaten  with 
the  evident  appreciation  of  an  epicure.  This 
comely  bird  is  a  cannibal,  who  is  no  respecter 
of  persons,  and  while  some  people  excuse  and 
even  praise  him  for  murdering  the  English  spar- 
rows, he  also  eats  a  good  many  fine  song  birds, 
for  which  all  must  condemn  him.  It  is  said  that 
if  the  hunting  is  good  and  he  has  no  difficulty  in 


246  Twelve  Months  With 

killing  plenty  of  birds,  he  eats  only  the  brains, 
but  if  hunger  presses  he  will  eat  the  whole  bird. 
By  impaling  the  slaughtered  birds  upon  thorns  or 
barbs,  he  keeps  a  larder  well  stocked  with  dainties 
for  his  epicurean  taste,  to  which  he  may  resort 
in  any  emergency.  Despite  his  bloody  habits,  the 
shrike  is  not  properly  a  bird  of  prey.  He  has 
passerine  feet,  like  all  our  small  birds,  and  is 
unable  to  hold  his  prey  in  his  claws  while  eating 
it,  which  is  his  real  reason  for  impaling  it  upon 
thorns  and  barbs. 

This  bird  is  easily  identified  by  his  colors.  The 
upper  parts  are  gray,  wings  and  tail  black,  marked 
with  white.  He  is  also  easily  known  by  the  con- 
sternation caused  by  his  appearance  among  a  flock 
of  sparrows.  His  flight  is  also  characteristic,  being 
steady  and  somewhat  labored,  with  much  flapping. 
He  flies  close  to  the  ground  until  he  nears  his 
intended  perch,  when  he  turns  suddenly  upward 
and  alights  somewhat  like  a  flicker. 

Among  other  birds  occasionally  seen  in  winter 
are  the  kinglets,  the  brown  creeper  and  the  cedar 
waxwing,  which  we  have  elsewhere  discussed. 

With  the  exception  of  the  birds  and  a  few  small 
animals,  Nature  closes  up  and  goes  indoors  in 
January,  and  no  signs  of  her  outdoor  life  remain. 
Frogs  bury  themselves  in  mud  and  under  leaf 
mold,  and  millions  of  insects,  grubs  and  other 
small  animals,  stilled  by  the  winter  cold,  are 
buried  in  trees  and  logs  and  under  the  ground, 
to  be  awakened  in  spring  by  the  warm  rays  of 


The  Birds  and  Poets  247 

the  ascending  sun.  Eggs  and  larvae  of  many  spe- 
cies of  insects  are  deposited  in  late  summer  and 
early  fall,  and  lie  dormant  until  the  spring 
opening. 

The  terminal  buds  of  the  thornapple,  poplar 
and  other  trees  start  to  swell  during  the  warm 
Indian  Summer  days  of  November,  and  then, 
before  their  protecting  covering  breaks,  they  are 
stopped  by  the  frosts,  where  they  remain  through 
the  winter,  "patient,  and  awaiting  the  soft  breath 
of  Spring." 

In  January  Nature's  great  family  still  lives,  but 
its  members  are  withdrawn  from  our  view,  and 
few  venture  forth  before  February  or  March, 
when  the  spring  sun  renews  their  motive  power. 

Although,  as  we  have  seen,  January  has  its  own 
birds,  like  the  other  months  of  the  year,  we  are 
glad  that,  like  Janus,  it  faces  both  ways,  and  while 
looking  back  upon  the  old,  it  also  looks  forward 
to  the  new,  and  opens  the  door  to  the  new  bird 
year.  We  cannot  much  regret  its  departure  when 
we  know  it  means  the  approach  of  the  first  spring 
birds.  It  must  have  been  January  when  Riley 
wrote : 

"Go  Winter !  Go  thy  ways !  We  want  again 
The  twitter  of  the  blue  bird  and  the  wren." 

About  the  first  of  February  one  begins  to  long 
for  the  feathered  refugees  "fresh  from  the  far 
Antilles,"  and  to  hear  again  their  spring  songs. 


248  With  the  Birds  and  Poets 

Alice  Brown  breathes  the  very  soul  of  the  bird 
lover  at  this  season  in  these  lines: 

"My  birds,  come  back!  the  hollow  sky 

Is  weary  for  your  note. 

(Sweetthroat,  come  back!    O  liquid,  mellow  throat!) 
Ere  May's  soft  minions  hereward  fly, 
Shame  on  ye,  laggards,  to  deny 
The  brooding  breast,  the  sun-bright  eye, 
The  tawny,  shining  coat." 


FEBRUARY. 

When  first  the  pussy-willow  shows 

Her  fairy  muffs  of  gray, 
While  still  amid  the  poplar  tree 
The  blithe,  familiar  chickadee 

His  morning  suet  gratis  gets, — 
When  first  the  consternating  crows 
Break  on  the  winter-keen  repose 

Of  February  day 

Their  strident  cawings, 
Startling  with  Stygian  silhouettes 

The  virgin  snows 

To  wake,  and  with  faint  thawings, 

Like  speech  half  audible, 
Murmur  of  spring,  until  we  houslings  feel — 

Or  dream  we  feel — the  breath 

Of  blowing  violets — *      *      * 

— Percy  Mackaye. 

HE  early  days  of  winter  bring  with 
them  a  sense  of  rest  and  calm  after 
the  tumultuous  joys  and  volup- 
tuous beauties  of  summer.  For  the 
nature-lover,  summer  is  packed 
with  exhilaration,  and  after  its 
emotional  excesses  the  peace  and  quiet  of  early 
winter  is  a  soothing  influence  to  his  tired  nerves. 

As  autumn  fades,  and  the  frosts  come,  Nature's 
beautiful  and  interesting  forms  quietly  retire  for 
their  season  of  rest,  "awaiting  the  requiem  of 
winter's  snows." 


250  Twelve  Months  With 

"What  says  the  world? 

Winter's  my  rest; 
After  a  revel — 
Slumber  is  best." 

But  by  the  time  February  has  come  we  begin 
to  look  forward  to  another  debauch.  Winter  has 
outworn  its  welcome,  and  we  have  rested  enough. 
We  long  for  the  life  and  stimulating  joys  of  spring 
and  summer. 

Nature's  army  of  reanimated  things  is  gather- 
ing to  drive  grim  fighting  February  from  the  field, 
and  although  He  marshals  all  the  scattering  forces 
of  Winter,  they  are  never  able  to  do  more  than 
cover  His  inevitable  retreat.  While  He  blusters 
and  storms  in  His  valiant  efforts  to  save  the  frozen 
fortresses  and  crystal  palaces  of  Winter  from  .the 
advancing  hosts  of  Spring,  the  high-ascending  sun 
looks  into  His  face,  and,  blinded  by  its  new  light, 
He  slowly  backs  across  the  fields  and  woods  into 
the  receding  north,  leaving  the  ruins  of  Winter 
about  Him. 

Ethelwyn  Wetherald  pictures  His  overthrow  in 
her  lines  "To  February" : 

"Build  high  your  white  and  dazzling  palaces, 
Strengthen  your  bridges,  fortify  your  towers. 
Storm  with  a  loud  and  portentous  lip. 
And  April  with  a  fragmentary  breeze, 
And  half  a  score  of  gentle  golden  hours, 
Shall  leave  no  trace  of  your  stern  workmanship!" 


The  Birds  and  Poets  251 

February  having  been  driven  into  the  north,  the 
winds  of  March  bring  upon  their  tide  the  advance 
guard  of  our  feathered  friends  from  the  south. 
February's  chief  claim  to  interest  in  the  bird  cal- 
endar is  that  it  makes  way  for  the  season  that 

«*     *     *     bears  upon  its  wing 
The  swallows  and  the  songs  of  spring." 

And  yet,  like  all  the  months  of  the  year,  it  has 
its  own  interesting  birds.  No  bird  seems  more 
typical  of  the  cold,  gray,  fitful  days  of  February 
than  the  cold,  gray,  fitful  owl!  He  blusters  and 
he  mopes,  he  storms  and  he  sleeps,  by  turns.  At 
times  he  is  viciously  and  noisily  aggressive, — and 
again  he  is  characterized  by  a  feline  silence  and 
softness  of  movement  that  is  uncanny.  How 
appropriate  that  he  should  choose  February  for 
mating  and  establishing  his  home! 

With  us  the  great  horned  owl  and  the  barred 
owl  nest  in  February.  Once  very  plentiful,  both 
species  are  now  comparatively  rare.  The  clear- 
ing away  of  the  heavy  timber  in  which  they  always 
prefer  to  nest  has  scattered  them,  and  they  are 
now  to  be  found  only  in  the  more  remote  patches 
of  deep  woods,  usually  along  the  rivers  or  larger 
streams. 

The  great  horned  owl  is  called  by  Nuttall  the 
"eagle  of  the  night,  the  king  of  the  nocturnal  tribe 
of  American  birds."  He  is  the  largest  of  all  the 
owls,  measuring  sometimes  twenty-five  inches  in 


252  Twelve  Months  With 

length,  with  a  wing  spread  of  three  feet.  He  has 
large  and  conspicuous  ear  tufts,  from  which  he 
derives  his  name.  Like  many  of  the  owls,  his 
plumage  is  variable.  It  is  mottled  black,  and 
various  shades  of  brown,  buff  and  tawny.  He  has 
a  white  band  around  his  throat,  like  a  collar,  and 
usually  a  white  stripe  down  the  breast.  He  has 
the  yellow  eyes  common  to  his  race. 

Some  years  ago,  in  Northern  Indiana,  during 
the  last  week  of  February,  I  discovered  the  nest 
of  a  great  horned  owl  in  an  abandoned  red-tailed 
hawk's  nest,  some  ninety  feet  from  the  ground. 
I  had  observed  the  hawks  at  this  nest  during  the 
previous  spring,  and  as  I  was  walking  through 
the  woods  on  a  dull  February  day,  the  nest  loomed 
large  before  me  in  the  naked  trees,  and  I  looked 
at  it  with  my  glass,  to  see  if  there  were  any  signs 
of  the  hawks  returning  and  repairing  the  old  nest. 
I  immediately  noticed  something  which  very  much 
resembled  the  ear  tufts  of  a  large  owl  protruding 
over  the  bulky  nest.  I  approached  the  tree  and 
hammered  on  the  trunk,  but  there  was  no  move- 
ment about  the  nest.  Looking  around  under  the 
nest,  among  the  dead  leaves,  I  found  fragments 
of  aegagropila,  or  balls  of  fine  hair  and  bones. 

The  regurgitation  of  the  hair  and  bones  of  mice, 
rabbits  and  other  animals  eaten  by  owls  often 
furnishes  a  helpful  clew  to  one  searching  for 
their  nests.  Usually  quantities  of  this  material 
may  be  found  on  the  ground  about  any  tree 
inhabited  by  owls,  and  as  the  birds  are  very  retir- 


The  Birds  and  Poets  253 

ing  by  day,  and  difficult  to  see,  and  often  nest,  as 
well  as  roost,  in  hollow  trees,  this  regurgitated 
material  is  one  of  the  safest  and  surest  guides  to 
the  bird's  retreat. 

I  therefore  concluded  the  old  hawk's  nest  was 
occupied  by  owls.  It  was  a  difficult  climb,  and 
the  nest  was  well  out  on  a  long  upper  limb,  but 
after  half  an  hour's  work  I  pulled  up  alongside. 
Not  until  I  raised  up  beside  the  nest  and  looked 
into  it  did  the  female  leave  the  nest.  She  looked 
immense  as  she  softly  floated  off,  soaring  down  to 
a  lower  perch  in  an  adjoining  tree.  There  was 
one  round  white  egg  in  the  nest.  The  eggs  of  the 
great  horned  owl  are  nearly  spherical,  and  thin 
shelled.  When  seen  in  a  dark  cavity  in  a  hollow 
tree,  in  shape  and  color  they  remind  one  of  large 
turtle  eggs.  While  pulling  myself  up  to  a  more 
comfortable  position  beside  the  nest,  the  owl  noise- 
lessly flew  back  into  the  nest  tree,  about  twenty- 
five  feet  from  the  nest,  and  back  and  a  little  above 
my  head.  I  did  not  for  the  moment  realize  that 
this  was  her  first  strategic  move  in  a  plan  of  attack 
she  was  blinking  out  as  best  she  could  under  the 
handicap  of  daylight.  The  day,  however,  was 
dull  and  dark,  which  may  in  part  account  for 
her  subsequent  villainous  activity.  Fortunately  I 
had  thrown  my  main  climbing  strap  around  two 
small  branches  which  supported  one  side  of  the 
large  nest,  and  was  partly  resting  against  a  limb 
and  partly  against  the  strap.  I  looked  over  my 
shoulder  to  see  what  the  owl  was  doing,  and  noticed 


254  Twelve  Months  With 

the  male  owl  perched  beside  her.  As  it  was  diffi- 
cult for  me  to  turn  about  far  enough  to  watch 
them,  I  decided  to  move  around  the  nest  a  short 
distance,  where  I  might  observe  them  without 
effort.  Almost  the  very  instant  that  I  turned  back 
to  the  nest  to  carry  out  this  plan  the  unexpected 
assault  was  made.  I  was  struck  a  violent  blow 
across  my  right  shoulder  and  neck,  and  my  cap  was 
torn  from  my  head.  Had  I  not  been  strapped  to 
the  tree  I  would  have  fallen  ninety  feet  to  the 
ground.  I  was  so  astonished  at  this  sudden 
onslaught  that  for  a  moment  I  could  not  realize 
what  had  happened.  Neither  owl  was  to  be  seen. 
I  almost  immediately  started  for  the  safe  and 
friendly  sod,  and  strange  to  say  saw  nothing  more 
of  the  owls  that  day.  I  found  my  cap  on  the 
ground  with  an  ugly  tear  on  the  right  side  where 
I  had  been  struck.  I  was  very  fortunate  not  to 
have  had  my  face  badly  lacerated.  I  have  since 
read  of  similar  attacks  by  great  horned  owls  upon 
persons  molesting  nests  where  severe  injuries  have 
been  inflicted  by  the  bird's  talons. 

They  fly  so  noiselessly  and  so  rapidly,  that  they 
usually  strike  before  they  are  seen,  and  an  angry 
bird  of  this  size  and  speed  with  talons  extended 
crashing  into  a  person  is  no  insignificant  assailant. 
Indeed,  this  owl  has  been  not  inappropriately 
called  the- "tiger  among  birds." 

I  frequently  saw  the  owls  about  this  nest  during 
that  spring  but  needless  to  say  I  did  not  again 
attempt  to  molest  them!  They  raised  their  brood 


The  Birds  and  Poets  255 

of  young  owlets  and  fed  them  huge  quantities  of 
mice,  rats,  rabbits,  birds,  etc.  The  following  sea- 
son they  were  gone  somewhere  into  the  dense  forest. 
Ever  since  that  early  experience  I  have  enter- 
tained a  very  wholesome  respect  for  the  great 
horned  owl.  Truly  he  is  the  Eagle  of  the  night 
and  the  King  of  nocturnal  birds.  One  of  the 
acknowledged  classics  among  bird  poems,  is  "The 
Owl,"  by  Bryan  Waller  Procter  (Barry  Cornwall, 
pseud.)  : 

"In  the  hollow  tree,  in  the  old  gray  tower, 
The  spectral  Owl  doth  dwell; 
Dull,  hated,  despised  in  the  sunshine  hour, 
But  at  dusk  he's  abroad  and  well! 
Not  a  bird  of  the  forest  e'er  mates  with  him; 
All  mock  him  outright,  by  day; 
But  at  night,  when  the  woods  grow  still  and  dim, 
The  boldest  will  shrink  away. 
O,  when  the  night  falls,  and  roosts  the  fowl, 
Then,  then,  is  the  reign  of  the  Horned  Owl! 


So,  when  the  night  falls,  and  dogs  do  howl, 
Sing,  Ho!  for  the  reign  of  the  Horned  Owl! 

We  know  not  alway 

Who  are  Kings  by  day; 
But  the  King  of  the  night  is  the  bold  brown  Owl" 

He  is  the  "Hoot  Owl"  of  our  childhood  days. 
His  usual  call  is  a  loud,  deep-toned  "ivhoo,  hoo- 


256  Twelve  Months  With 

hod-hod,  whddd,  whooo!"  all  the  syllables  being  on 
the  same  note. 

The  barred  owl  is  usually  a  little  later  in  nest- 
ing, but  he  often  begins  to  mate  in  February.  This 
species  is  four  or  five  inches  shorter  than  the  great 
horned  owl,  and  is  also  distinguished  by  absence 
of  "horns"  or  ear-tufts  and  by  its  black  eyes.  I 
once  found  a  nest  of  this  owl  in  a  shallow  cavity  in 
the  fork  of  an  elm  only  about  ten  feet  from  the 
ground.  An  unusual  experience  led  to  the  discov- 
ery of  the  nest.  I  found  an  unbroken  barred  owl's 
egg  at  the  foot  of  the  tree,  among  some  chips  on 
the  ground.  The  eggs  of  this  species  are  dirty 
white,  and  the  shells  are  unusualy  thick  and  heavy, 
indeed  they  are  so  hard  that  it  is  difficult  to  drill 
holes  in  them  for  the  insertion  of  a  blow  pipe. 
How  this  egg  could  have  fallen  ten  feet  to  the 
ground,  however,  without  breaking,  is  a  mystery. 
After  discovering  it,  I  noticed  some  regurgitated 
hair  massed  together  with  small  bones  in  tell-tale 
fashion  at  the  foot  of  the  tree,  and  soon  located  the 
nest  above  in  the  decayed  crotch. 

The  barred  owl  is  also  called  "Hoot  Owl." 
His  call  is  similar  to  that  of  the  great  horned 
owl,  but  it  is  more  sonorous  and  more  varied  in 
tone. 

Among  the  other  owls  more  or  less  common  in 
this  latitude  may  be  mentioned  the  American 
long-eared  owl,  the  short-eared  owl,  the  saw- 
whet  owl  and  the  little  screech  owl.  None  of 
these  is  now  common,  except  in  certain  localities. 


The  Birds  and  Poets  257 

The  screech  owl  is  probably  the  most  abundant. 
This  little  owl  is  one  of  the  smallest  of  the  owl 
family,  measuring  about  an  inch  shorter  than  the 
robin.  It  often  makes  its  home  near  dwellings. 
Old  apple  orchards  are  favorite  retreats,  where 
numerous  cavities  in  the  trees  offer  a  secure  refuge 
from  the  hosts  of  small  birds  which  constantly 
attack  them  if  they  show  themselves  by  day.  They 
are  strictly  nocturnal  like  the  two  species  already 
discussed,  and  when  darkness  falls  their  tremulous, 
wailing  whistle  may  often  be  heard,  especially 
upon  moonlight  nights.  Stupid  by  day,  they 
appear  very  differently  when  the  western  sky  fades 
and  night  falls.  Dr.  Chapman  inquires:  "Is  any 
bird  more  thoroughly  awake  than  a  hungry  screech 
owl?  With  ear-tufts  erected  and  his  great,  round 
eyes  opened  to  the  utmost,  he  is  the  picture  of  alert- 
ness." * 

I  have  often  heard  them  whistle  in  the  trees 
beside  my  village  home;  and  a  friend  recently  told 
me  of  one  that  came  into  his  sleeping  porch  and 
perching  on  the  post  of  a  bed,  uttered  its  tremulous 
cry  in  the  semi-darkness,  frightening  his  daughter 
almost  into  hysterics.  In  plumage  they  have  two 
phases,  one  reddish  brown  and  one  gray.  These 
color  phases  are  not  dependent  upon  age,  sex  or 
season,  and  both  phases  are  often  found  in  the 
young  of  a  single  brood. 

John  Vance  Cheney's  "Little  Warm  Owl"  must 
have  been  a  February  screech  owl: 

*  Birds  of  Eastern  North  America,  p.  219. 


258  Twelve  Months  With 

"Darkness,  grow  and  blacker  fold, 
Rattle,  hail,  and  blast  be  bold. 

Old  trees,  blow  together 

In  the  cold,  roaring  weather; 
Louder  you  howl 

The  jollier  he, 

In  his  nest  in  the  breast  of  the  hollow  tree, 
The  warm  little  owl,  the  little  warm  owl. 
Play  up,  wild  pipes  i'  the  forest  bare, 
Gallop,  goblins,  down  the  air. 

Ride,  hug  to  the  back 

Of  the  scudding  rack; 
Fiercer  it  scowl 

The  jollier  he, 

In  his  nest  in  the  breast  of  the  hollow  tree, 
The  warm  little  owl,  the  little  warm  owl." 

All  the  owls  named  are  nocturnal  in  their  habits, 
except  the  short-eared  owl,  which  feeds  and  moves 
about  by  day.  It  is  between  the  barred  owl  and 
the  screech  owl  in  size,  and  frequents  the  grassy 
marshes,  instead  of  the  deep  woods.  The  plumage 
is  brown  and  buff,  and  the  ear-tufts  are  very  short, 
and  the  eyes  the  usual  yellow. 

The  long-eared  owl  is  a  little  smaller,  has  very 
conspicuous  ear-tufts,  an  inch  or  more  in  length, 
and  the  brown  and  buff  plumage  is  mottled  with 
white.  Unlike  its  short-eared  cousin,  this  little 
owl  is  rarely  found  in  open  places.  Thick  willow 
swamps  or  heavy  coniferous  trees  furnish  favorite 
daytime  roosts.  The  bird  is  tame  and  will  not  fly 
until  closely  approached.  When  conscious  of 


The  Birds  and  Poets  259 

being  observed  it  draws  itself  up  in  rigid  fashion 
until  it  more  nearly  resembles  a  dead  limb  than  a 
live  bird. 

The  saw-whet  or  Acadian  is  the  smallest  of  our 
owls,  being  two  inches  shorter  than  a  robin.  Its 
small  size  and  absence  of  ears  at  once  distinguish 
it  from  our  other  owls.  It  is  now  very  rare  in  this 
latitude.  The  notes  of  this  species  are  harsh  and 
rasping,  somewhat  resembling  the  noise  made  by 
filing  a  saw, — hence  its  name. 

The  owls  are  among  the  most  interesting  of  our 
birds.  Their  resemblance  to  the  feline  race  has 
been  frequently  noted.  Like  the  cat  they  see  best  by 
twilight  or  moonlight,  feed  at  night  and  spend  most 
of  the  day  in  sleep.  Their  ear-tufts  resemble  the 
ears  of  a  cat.  Watchfulness  and  stealth  are  charac- 
teristics of  both,  and  both  feed  upon  mice,  rats  and 
birds. 

The  disk  of  flat  feathers  about  the  eyes,  the 
hooked,  nose-shaped  bill,  the  big  blinking  eyes  and 
the  upright  position  produce  a  grave  and  dignified 
appearance  which  is  almost  human.  It  was  doubt- 
less because  of  this  that  the  owl  was  chosen  by  the 
ancients  as  the  emblem  of  wisdom  and  consecrated 
to  Minerva. 

Another  peculiarity  that  marks  his  stiff  and 
stately  bearing  is  his  inability  to  turn  his  eyes  in 
their  sockets.  The  eyes  are  fixed,  and  to  look  from 
one  point  to  another  he  is  obliged  to  turn  his  head, 
which  he  does  in  a  slow,  mechanical  manner  that 
is  as  interesting  as  it  is  unusual. 


26o  Twelve  Months  With 

The  sense  of  hearing  is  very  acute  in  all  birds, 
but  the  owls  excel  all  other  birds  in  this  faculty, 
and  being  practically  noiseless  in  flight,  they  are 
usually  able  to  pounce  upon  any  prey  which  their 
very  acute  hearing  reveals  to  them  in  the  darkness. 

The  fluffy  wings  of  the  owls,  with  their  rounded, 
downy  edges,  furnish  one  of  the  many  interesting 
examples  of  adaptation  to  be  found  among  the 
birds.  Obliged  to  hunt  their  food  at  night  by 
stealth,  they  have  acquired  a  flying  apparatus  that 
is  practically  noiseless,  no  matter  how  rapid  the 
flight.  The  woodcock,  also  a  night  feeder,  has  no 
such  peculiar  structure  of  the  wing  feathers,  be- 
cause it  obtains  its  food  by  probing  into  the  ground 
with  its  long  bill,  and  takes  none  of  it  on  the  wing. 
"Nature  makes  no  useless  provisions  for  her 
creatures." 

When  to  all  these  unusual  characteristics  of  the 
owl  there  is  added  the  weird,  almost  human  voice 
it  is  small  wonder  that  the  ancients  regarded  the 
bird  with  awe  and  superstitious  dread. 

Another  interesting  February  bird  which  fur- 
nishes a  remarkable  instance  of  early  breeding,  is 
the  prairie  horned  lark,  sometimes  called  shore 
lark,  because  in  winter  it  frequently  resorts  to  the 
shores  of  lakes  and  rivers  for  feeding.  The  horned 
larks  (of  which  there  are  two  species)  are  the  only 
American  representatives  of  the  large  and  famous 
lark  family.  The  prairie  horned  lark  resembles 
the  vesper  sparrow  somewhat  in  appearance.  Its 
distinguishing  marks  are  black  ear-tufts  extending 


The  Birds  and  Poets  261 

back  from  either  side  of  the  head,  and  black 
patches  at  the  front  of  the  crown,  from  the  base  of 
the  bill  to  the  eye,  and  extending  down  to  the  side 
of  the  throat,  and  a  black  band  across  the  upper 
breast.  One  of  the  surest  means  of  identification 
is  the  persistent  habit  of  remaining  on  the  ground. 
They  are  strictly  terrestrial  birds  and  never  perch 
in  a  tree.  Also,  they  always  run  and  never  hop. 
They  are  frequently  seen  running  along  country 
roads.  High  roads  between  unfenced  fields  are 
almost  certain  to  yield  a  few  horned  larks.  I  know 
a  number  of  country  roads  where  I  usually  may  be 
sure  of  finding  some  of  these  birds  almost  any  day 
in  the  year.  When  flushed  they  often  utter  a  rather 
inconspicuous  whistle,  as  they  dart  off  in  their 
irregular  flight  over  the  adjoining  fields.  The 
chief  song  of  the  bird,  a  mincing  warble,  is  some- 
times poured  forth  as  it  tumbles  about  in  its  irregu- 
lar flight  and  sometimes  while  perched  on  some 
clod  in  the  fields.  This  habit  of  singing  in  flight 
is  characteristic  of  the  European  Skylark,  of  which 
George  Sylvester  Viereck  writes : 

"Sweet  is  the  high  road 
When  the  skylarks  call" 

as  though  he  might  be  speaking  of  one  of  our  shore 
larks  on  a  country  road. 

Some  years  ago  I  found  a  nest  of  this  bird  the 
last  week  in  February.  It  was  placed  in  a  tuft  of 
grass,  along  a  railroad  right  of  way.  The  ground 


262  Twelve  Months  With 

was  frozen  hard,  and  the  grass  filled  with  light 
snow.  The  nest  contained  three  eggs.  How  the 
bird  can  keep  the  eggs  warm  and  bring  them  to 
incubation  under  such  circumstances  is  a  mystery, 
— and  the  little  larks  must  be  a  hardy  lot  to  with- 
stand the  rough  weather  of  late  February  and  early 
March. 

These  birds  generally  may  be  seen  the  year 
round,  but  in  February  when  birds  are  scarce,  they 
begin  mating,  and  may  then  be  found  in  consider- 
able numbers  in  their  accustomed  haunts. 

Being  the  first  of  all  our  small  perching  birds  to 
nest,  they  have  an  unusual  claim  upon  our  interest 
and  affections. 

Among  the  first  spring  birds  that  sometimes 
return  to  us  as  early  as  February  is  the  bluebird. 
Sarah  Piatt,  after  hearing  one  of  the  European 
larks  sing,  compares  its  song  with  the  velvety, 
chuckling  gurgle  of  our  bluebird,  very  much  to 
the  advantage  of  the  latter : 

"If  this  be  all,  for  which  I've  listened  long, 

Oh,  spirit  of  the  dew! 
You  did  not  sing  to  Shelley  such  a  song 
As  Shelley  sung  to  you. 


Oh,  Lark  of  Europe,  downward  fluttering  near, 

Like  some  spent  leaf  at  best, 
You'd  never  sing  again  if  you  could  hear 

My  Blue-Bird  of  the  West!" 


The  Birds  and  Poets  263 

February  begins  the  mating  and  nesting  season 
which  is  to  last  with  some  of  our  birds  through  to 
September.  It  also  brings  the  first  of  our  birds 
back  from  the  South,  so  that  the  claim  upon  our 
affections  of  the  old  gray,  fitful  month  is  large  and 
urgent.  It  stimulates  our  first  interest  in  the 
returning  season  of  birds  and  flowers,  which  will 
reach  its  flood  tide  of  happiness  by  April. 

Let  us  dismiss  old  Winter,  and  usher  in  bluff 
March,  with  these  lines  by  William  Gilmore 
Simms: 

"Now  are  the  winds  about  us  in  their  glee, 
Tossing  the  slender  tree; 
Whirling  the  sands  about  his  furious  car, 
March  cometh  from  afar; 
Breaks  the  sealed  magic  of  old  winter's  dreams, 
And  rends  his  glassy  streams; 
Chafing  with  potent  airs,  he  fiercely  takes 
Their  fetters  from  the  lakes, 
And  with  a  power  by  queenly  Spring  supplied 
Wakens  the  slumbering  tide. 

With  a  wild  love  he  seeks  young  Summer's  charms 

And  clasps  her  in  his  arms; 

Lifting  his  shield  between,  he  drives  away 

Old  Winter  from  his  prey; 

The  ancient  tyrant  whom  he  boldly  braves 

Goes  howling  to  his  caves; 

And,  to  his  northern  realm  compelled  to  fly, 

Yields  up  the  victory; 

Melted  are  all  his  bands,  o'erthrown  his  towers, 

And  March  comes,  bringing  flowers." 


MARCH. 

Why  chidest  thou  the  tardy  spring? 
The  hardy  bunting  does  not  chide ; 
The  blackbirds  make  the  maples  ring 
With  social  cheer  and  jubilee; 
The  red-wing  flutes  his  o-ka-lee, 
The  robins  know  the  melting  snow; 
The  sparrow  meek,  prophetic-eyed, 
Her  nest  beside  the  snow-drift  weaves, 
Secure  the  osier  yet  will  hide 
Her  callow  brood  in  mantling  leaves, — 
And  thou,  by  science  all  undone, 
Why  only  must  thy  reason  fail 
To  see  the  southing  of  the  sun? 

The  world  rolls  round, — mistrust  it  not, — 
Befalls  again  what  once  befell; 
All  things  return,  both  sphere  and  mote, 
And  I  shall  hear   my  blue  bird's  note, 
And  dream  the  dream  of  Auburn  dell." 

— Emerson. 

ARCH  brings  the  first  hesitating 
hints  of  spring.  Weary  winter  has 
retreated  into  the  north,  but  Spring 
has  not  yet  come,  though  now  and 
then  she  peeps  out  between  the  al- 
ternating warm  thunder  showers 

and  wintry  snow  storms  of  this  capricious  season. 

Riley  sums  it  up  as: 

"Jest  rain  and  snow!  and  rain  again! 
And  dribble !  drip !  and  blow ! 
Then  snow !  and  thaw !  and  slush !  and  then — 
Some  more  rain  and  snow!" 


266  Twelve  Months  With 

Percy  Mackaye  says  March 

"*     *     *     bows  before  the  beauty  of  the  year, 
And  spurns  presumptuous  Winter  with  his  heel." 

Indeed  the  chief  charm  of  bluff  March  is  that 
he  comes  to  announce  the  beauties  of  the  awaken- 
ing year,  which  we  are  so  eager  to  glimpse  behind 
him  that  we  sometimes  grow  impatient  and  wish 
he  would  cease  his  blustering  ceremony  and  move 
on.  We  are  interested  in  what  is,  largely  because 
of  our  eagerness  for  what  is  to  be.  No  other  days 
in  the  round  year  so  touch  the  imagination  and  fill 
the  soul  with  longing. 

The  season  is  one  of  suggestion.  March  is  dotted 
with  delightful  intimations  of  the  joyous  days  of 
which  April  brings  definite  promise.  A  new  cycle 
of  life  is  about  to  begin,  and  we  feel  the  first  stir- 
ring of  the  primal  impulses  felt  by  all  of  Nature's 
children. 

"For  now  the  Heavenly  Power 

Makes  all  things  new, 
And  thaws  the  cold  and  fills 
The  flower  with  dew." 

It  is  the  time  when  new  life  begins  to  flow  in  our 
veins  and  through  the  arteries  of  the  trees,  and  we 
feel  that  life  is  good! 

Bryant  welcomes  March  as  the  first  spring 
month : 


The  Birds  and  Poets  267 

"Oh,  passing  few  are  they  who  speak, 

Wild  stormy  month !  in  praise  of  thee; 
Yet,  though  thy  winds  are  loud  and  bleak, 
Thou  art  a  welcome  month  to  me. 

For  thou,  to  northern  lands  again, 

The  glad  and  glorious  sun  dost  bring, 

And  thou  hast  joined  the  gentle  train 

And  wear'st  the  gentle  name  of  spring." 

John  Vance  Cheney  hails  the  month  with  enthus- 
iasm: 

"The  pussy-willow  and  the  hazel  know, 

The  blue  bird  and  the  robin,  what  rings  true; 
I  trust  to  such,  and  let  the  whiners  go. 

Bravo !  bluff  March;  I  swing  my  hat  to  you  I" 

The  bluebirds  and  the  robins  come  back  to  us 
with  the  pussy-willows.  The  few  that  we  see  in 
winter  are  doubtless  summer  residents  of  Canada, 
and  those  that  come  back  to  us  in  February  and 
March,  our  summer  residents,  have  wintered  far- 
ther south. 

The  robin  that  was  an  almost  daily  visitor  at  my 
feeding  box  during  the  winter  has  not  been  seen 
for  nearly  a  month.  He  has  doubtless  been  jour- 
neying by  easy  stages,  according  to  the  robin 
method  of  migration,  to  his  northern  nesting  site. 
The  new  robins  which  have  arrived  from  the  south 
have  not  yet  come  down  out  of  the  sky  and  the  tree 
tops,  and  sought  our  intimate  companionship. 


268  Twelve  Months  With 

They  are  still  few  in  numbers,  and  give  the  impres- 
sion of  straggling  transients  on  the  way,  or  new 
arrivals  that  are  yet  without  a  permanent  abiding 
place.  Through  force  of  habit  in  migrating,  they 
alight  in  the  tree  tops,  and  in  early  March  are 
seldom  seen  elsewhere.  By  April  our  own  robins 
will  come  down  out  of  the  sky,  into  the  green  grass, 
and  run  about  with  us  in  that  intimate  association 
which  lasts  through  the  summer,  and  makes  them 
dear  to  our  hearts. 

March  is  also  the  month  for  erecting  suitable 
nesting  homes  as  invitations  to  the  returning  blue- 
birds to  stop  and  make  their  summer  homes  with 
us.  If  the  ubiquitous  sparrows  are  driven  away 
and  not  permitted  to  preempt  the  house  before  the 
bluebirds  find  it  the  latter  will  establish  them- 
selves, and  thereafter  defend  their  domicile  against 
all  comers. 

Maurice  Thompson  has  inscribed  these  lines  to 
"An  Early  Bluebird": 

"Leap  to  the  highest  height  of  spring, 

And  trill  thy  sweetest  note, 
Bird  of  the  heavenly  plumes  and  twinkling  wing 
And  silver-toned  throat! 

Sing,  while  the  maple's  deepest  root 

Thrills  with  a  pulse  of  fire 
That  lights  its  buds.    Blow,  blow  thy  tender  flute, 

Thy  reed  of  rich  desire  I 


The  Birds  and  Poets  269 

Thou  first  sky-dipped  spring-bud  of  song, 

Whose  heavenly  ecstasy 
Foretells  the  May  while  yet  March  winds  are  strong, 

Fresh  faith  appears  with  thee!" 

The  red-winged  black  birds  come  back  in 
March  and  sing  from  the  bare  willows  along  the 
swollen  streams,  and  the  fox  sparrow  passes  as 
early  as  March  on  his  way  back  to  the  north  woods. 
He  seldom  sings  on  the  way  his  song  of  exceptional 
sweetness,  but  he  permits  us  to  admire  his  bright 
spring  coat,  and  there  is  no  more  beautiful  brown 
in  the  world  than  his  back.  The  song,  swamp  and 
field  sparrows,  of  our  own  summer  colony,  also 
begin  returning  this  month.  The  mourning  dove 
which  did  not  leave  us  until  November  returns 
before  the  first  of  April.  Among  other  March 
arrivals  may  be  mentioned  the  meadowlark,  whose 
early  spring  call  from  the  bare  fields  is  dynamic, 
and  the  cowbird,  the  phoebe  and  a  few  snipe  and 
plovers.  Of  the  latter,  the  killdeer  is  one  of  the 
most  typical  of  March  birds.  His  vigorous,  dart- 
ing flight  over  the  dun,  windy  fields,  with  his 
clarion  call  "kill-deer!  kill-deer!  kill-deer!"  seem 
part  and  parcel  of  the  early  spring  landscape. 
This  bird  always  speaks  his  own  name,  like  the 
chickadee,  and  he  is  easily  identified  by  his  famil- 
iar call.  He  is  most  frequently  found  in  meadows 
and  pastures  in  the  vicinity  of  water.  At  all  times 
noisy  and  querulous,  in  the  breeding  season  nothing 
can  exceed  the  killdeer's  exuberance.  The  chorus 


270  Twelve  Months  With 

of  their  incessant  cries  "kill-deer!  kill-deer!  kill- 
deer!"  as  they  fly  about  overhead,  is  more  inspirit- 
ing than  the  music  of  a  fife  corps. 

Their  eggs,  laid  on  the  ground  with  little  or  no 
nest,  are  of  peculiar  shape.  They  are  pointed  at 
the  smaller  end,  and  very  wide  across  the  larger 
end,  giving  them  the  appearance  of  a  toy  top.  It 
is  said  that  eggs  of  this  shape,  which  are  peculiar 
to  ground-nesting  and  shore  birds,  are  examples  of 
protective  adaptation,  and  that  they  have  gradually 
taken  on  this  top  shape,  as  an  advantageous  confor- 
mation to  their  environment,  and  therefore  as  a 
means  of  protection.  Eggs  of  this  shape  laid  on 
the  sand  or  rocks  will  not  roll  off  the  scant  nest 
into  the  water,  or  be  easily  blown  away  by  the 
wind,  but  will  roll  and  pivot  about  in  a  circle, 
around  the  small  end  of  the  egg. 

Many  similar  examples  of  protective  adaptation 
are  to  be  found  in  the  eggs,  plumage  and  physical 
characteristics  of  birds.  The  eggs  of  woodpeckers 
and  owls  laid  in  dark  holes  in  trees  are  white,  while 
the  eggs  of  ground  nesting  birds  are  almost  without 
exception  so  marked  with  protective  coloring  as  to 
make  it  difficult  to  see  them  in  the  grass  or  leaves. 
Birds  like  whippoorwills,  grouse,  quail  and  wood- 
cock, as  well  as  their  eggs  and  young  are  so  marked 
that  it  is  next  to  impossible  to  distinguish  them 
from  their  natural  surroundings. 

I  once  flushed  a  whippoorwill  from  her  nest,  and 
looked  for  several  seconds  directly  at  her  eggs  laid 
on  the  ground  among  some  dead  leaves  and  old 


The  Birds  and  Poets  271 

bark  before  I  was  really  able  to  visualize  them  and 
detach  them  from  their  sombre  protective  back- 
ground. 

The  ptarmigans,  the  grouse  of  Labrador  and  the 
Arctics,  wear  gray  and  brown  plumage  in  summer 
to  conform  to  the  colors  of  the  ground,  and  in  win- 
ter they  put  on  a  coat  as  white  as  the  snow  which 
drifts  about  them. 

In  winter  the  toes  of  the  ruffed  grouse  are  pro- 
vided with  a  curious  fringe  of  strong,  horny  points 
which  operate  as  tiny  snowshoes,  which  always  fall 
away  as  soon  as  spring  comes.  Birds  like  the  spar- 
rows and  grosbeaks  have  acquired  heavy  stout  bills 
which  enable  them  to  break  the  seeds  which  consti- 
tute their  chief  diet.  The  flycatchers  have  hair 
bristles  at  the  base  of  the  bill,  and  the  upper  man- 
dible closes  over  the  lower,  scissors  fashion,  so  that 
snapping  flying  insects  is  made  comparatively  sim- 
ple. The  tail  shafts  of  such  birds  as  swifts  and 
woodpeckers  that  brace  themselves  with  their  tails 
while  perching  are  very  stiff  and  strong  and  some- 
times extend  beyond  the  vanes. 

The  long  slender  bill  of  the  humming  bird  is 
admirably  adapted  to  probing  the  perfumed 
depths  of  the  tiniest  calyx.  The  nuthatches  and 
chickadees  have  long  slender  bills  with  which  to 
search  the  tiny  crevices  of  the  bark  where  the 
minute  tree  insects  and  larvae  upon  which  they  feed 
are  to  be  found.  The  woodpeckers  have  veritable 
little  trip-hammers  with  which  to  bore  for  grubs 
and  make  excavations  for  their  nests. 


272  Twelve  Months  With 

All  of  these  and  countless  other  instances  of 
adaptation  have  doubtless  been  acquired  through 
many  years  of  struggle  for  existence. 

March  and  April  always  bring  to  mind  my 
youthful  days  of  collecting,  when  the  hawks  of  a 
small  area  in  Northeastern  Indiana  must  have 
found  it  extremely  discouraging  to  attempt  to  raise 
their  brood  of  small  accipiters  and  buteos.  I  do 
not  recall  these  youthful  days  when  my  ardor  for 
collecting  was  at  its  height  with  feelings  altogether 
pleasurable,  because  I  remember  all  too  well  that 
I  plundered  a  good  many  nests,  and  collected  a 
good  many  sets  of  hawk  eggs  of  various  kinds. 
The  Cooper,  red-shouldered  and  red-tailed  hawks 
were  the  most  abundant  as  they  are  still  in  this 
latitude,  and  of  these  species  I  collected  many  sets 
during  March  and  April,  in  1888  and  1889. 

But  let  me  say  a  word  or  two  in  defense  of  col- 
lecting. It  is  of  course  true  that  one  of  the  worst 
of  the  birds'  enemies  is  that  type  of  professional 
egg  collector,  who,  disgracing  the  respected  title 
of  oologist,  concentrates  his  purpose  upon  getting 
as  many  sets  of  eggs  together  as  possible,  even  to 
securing  several  sets  of  the  same  species,  for  the 
mere  vulgar  satisfaction  of  possessing  more  birds' 
eggs  than  any  other  man  on  earth.  He  has  a  lust 
for  ownership,  and  collects  eggs  like  some  other 
men  collect  dollars,  just  for  the  selfish  pleasure  of 
gathering  as  many  as  possible,  and  parting  with  as 
few  as  possible. 

Elbert  Hubbard  once  said  that  one  of  the  inci- 


The  Birds  and  Poets  273 

dents  of  collecting  any  one  thing,  was  that  in 
pursuit  of  such  pastime  one  casually  collected 
other  things.  The  man  who  concentrates  exclu- 
sively on  dollars  collects  also  vanity,  envy,  dissatis- 
faction, a  distorted  vision,  a  distempered  spirit  and 
ennui!  The  professional  collector  of  eggs  for 
profit  fares  but  little  better,  to  say  nothing  of  the 
cruelty  and  desecration  of  which  he  is  guilty. 

But  all  men  are,  by  nature,  collectors,  whether 
it  be  of  postage  stamps  or  old  armor,  or  just  dollars. 
The  important  thing  is  that  the  collecting  be  wisely 
diverse  and  that  it  be  done  naturally  and  with  an 
unselfish,  open  spirit,  born  of  the  wholesome  long- 
ing to  collect  and  an  innocent  joy  in  the  collection, 
rather  than  of  the  selfish  wish  merely  to  out-rival 
some  other  collector.  There  is  no  vanity,  jealousy 
or  guile  in  the  heart  of  the  true  collector  of  say, 
old  books,  clocks,  prints,  or  of  birds'  eggs,  because 
his  collecting  keeps  sweet  his  spirit,  renews  his 
youth,  stirs  his  imagination,  and  prevents  his  soul 
from  becoming  sordid.  His  mind  remains  child- 
like and  ingenuous.  All  the  poets  have  been  col- 
lectors,—  (and  all  true  collectors  are  poets,) — and 
all  of  them  have  loved  the  birds,  and  sung  about 
them. 

But  to  return  to  the  hawks.  Although  quite  a 
young  lad,  during  this  time  I  climbed  many  a  tall 
tree,  usually  sycamore  or  elm,  sometimes  to  the 
height  of  seventy  or  eighty  feet,  to  secure  the  eggs 
of  the  red-shouldered  or  red-tailed  hawk.  The 
red-shouldered  were  the  most  numerous,  the  red- 


274  Twelve  Months  With 

tailed  next,  and  occasional  nests  of  the  Cooper, 
sharp-shinned  and  marsh  hawks  were  found. 
These  are  still  the  common  resident  hawks  in  this 
latitude.  The  beautiful  little  sparrow  hawk,  was 
also  abundant,  as  it  is  now,  nesting  in  natural  cav- 
ities in  old  trees  in  the  woods.  The  eggs  of  this 
little  hawk  are  as  beautifully  mottled  with  various 
shades  of  brown  as  the  birds  themselves.  Usually 
the  red-tailed  and  red-shouldered  hawks  nest  high 
up  in  the  largest  trees  in  the  woods,  building  a 
large  nest  of  coarse  sticks.  I  distinctly  remember 
one  nest  of  the  red-shouldered  hawk  ninety  feet 
from  the  ground,  in  a  giant  sycamore  hanging 
almost  over  a  railroad  track  which  cut  through 
the  woods. 

The  red-shouldered  and  red-tailed  hawks,  the 
"chicken  hawks"  of  the  farmers,  are  much  abused 
and  greatly  misunderstood  birds.  The  ordinary 
farmer  usually  has  very  erroneous  ideas  as  to  the 
damage  done  by  some  of  the  more  common  birds 
with  which  he  is  familiar.  Several  years  ago  I 
knew  of  a  farmer  living  near  Chicago  who  suc- 
ceeded in  driving  away  a  colony  of  black-crowned 
night  herons  nesting  in  a  small  swamp  oak  grove 
on  his  farm.  He  killed  a  hundred  or  more  birds, 
under  the  mistaken  belief  that  they  were  damaging 
his  crops.  Had  he  taken  the  trouble  to  inquire,  he 
would  have  found  that  the  birds  were  really  a  great 
benefit  and  advantage  to  him,  because  they  do  no 
harm  to  crops  but  on  the  contrary  they  eat  many 
grasshoppers  and  coleopterous  insects  and  beetles, 


The  Birds  and  Poets  275 

all  of  which  are  very  damaging  to  growing  crops. 
It  is  only  after  these  birds  have  been  long  teased 
and  plundered  that  they  finally  abandon  the  old 
station  where  the  colony  has  made  its  home,  but 
this  farmer  was  devilishly  persistent,  and  the  birds 
finally  left  for  parts  unknown,  to  return  no  more. 
The  colony  has  not  been  heard  of  in  this  area  since. 

The  crow  as  we  have  elsewhere  observed  is 
another  bird  which  is  misjudged  by  the  farmer. 
The  popular  idea  among  farmers  is  that  he  eats  up 
much  of  the  newly  planted  seed  corn,  and  he  there- 
fore gets  blamed  for  all  the  empty  hills  in  the  corn- 
field. As  a  matter  of  fact,  the  crow  will  seldom 
eat  the  dry  kernels  of  seed  corn,  unless  it  is  broken 
up,  either  by  his  own  beak  or  by  other  means,  and 
he  seldom  takes  the  trouble  to  break  it  up  himself 
if  other  food  is  available.  The  fact  is  that  being  a 
very  omnivorous  bird,  he  by  no  means  depends 
upon  corn  or  other  grain  to  gratify  his  appetite, 
but  eats  carrion,  fish,  birds'  eggs,  and  many  injuri- 
ous insects  and  worms.  He  is  unquestionably  more 
beneficial  than  harmful. 

The  buteos,  including  the  red-shouldered  and 
red-tailed  hawks,  commonly  called  "chicken 
hawks,"  destroy  very  few  chicks.  They  feed 
chiefly  upon  crop-destroying  rodents.  There  are 
about  seventy-three  species  and  sub-species  of 
hawks  in  America,  and  only  six  of  these  are  injuri- 
ous, yet  in  the  popular  mind  every  hawk  that 
appears  in  the  sky  is  a  "chicken  hawk"  deserving 
death.  Only  two  of  these  six  are  at  all  common 


276  Twelve  Months  With 

throughout  this  latitude,  the  Cooper  hawk  (accipi- 
ter  Cooperii),  and  the  sharp-shinned  hawk 
(accipiter  velox).  The  accipiters  who  do  all  the 
damage,  are  treacherous  and  stealthy,  like  most  vil- 
lains, whereas  the  buteos,  who  are  blamed  for  all 
their  rascalities,  innocently  soar  above  in  the  open 
blue  of  heaven,  wholly  unconscious  of  all  the  popu- 
lar prejudice  against  them. 

A  Cooper  hawk,  whose  flight  is  as  swift  and 
unerring  as  any  arrow,  will  suddenly  swoop  down 
out  of  nowhere  and  harry  a  poultry  yard  and  kill 
three  or  four  chicks  in  a  flash  and  get  away  without 
being  seen,  and  in  the  meantime  a  red-tailed  or 
red-shouldered  hawk,  entirely  innocent  of  any 
wrong  doing  or  evil  intentions,  will  soar  into  view, 
and  down  comes  the  vindictive  shot  gun,  and  down 
comes  the  innocent  bird,  murdered  in  cold  blood 
for  the  crimes  of  another. 

The  buteos  on  the  western  plains  are  fond  of 
prairie  dogs,  and  some  years  ago  the  farmers  and 
ranchmen,  possessed  of  the  common  prejudice 
against  these  birds,  killed  large  numbers  of  them, 
and  the  prairie  dogs  soon  became  so  numerous  as 
to  be  a  very  serious  pest,  and  at  the  request  of  these 
same  farmers  and  ranchmen,  United  States  Bio- 
logical Survey  officials  endeavored  to  find  some 
means  to  abate  the  plague,  and  one  of  the  first 
recommendations  made  was  that  the  hawks  be  pro- 
tected. This  is  another  striking  illustration  of  the 
unwisdom  of  interfering  with  nature's  laws. 

The  hawks,  as  a  family,  are  admirable  birds,  and 


The  Birds  and  Poets  277 

with  a  very  few  exceptions  deserve  protection. 
Even  as  to  the  injurious  accipiters,  the  bird  lover 
finds  it  difficult  to  withhold  a  sneaking  admiration 
for  the  race,  for  cannibals  and  murderers  though 
they  be,  their  lives  are  typical  of  the  freedom  of 
the  fields,  and  the  wildness  of  the  woodlands. 

Upon  the  occasion  of  one  of  my  youthful  hawk 
trips,  to  which  I  have  referred,  I  observed  a  turkey 
vulture  perched  upon  the  top  of  a  broken  and 
decayed  trunk  of  a  very  large  tree,  which  had  been 
broken  off  squarely  some  twenty  feet  from  the 
ground.  I  had  noticed  two  buzzards  in  the  neigh- 
borhood several  times,  and  though  I  never  had 
before  seen  or  heard  of  their  nesting  farther  north 
than  the  latitude  of  Central  Indiana  or  Illinois,  I 
suspected  there  might  be  a  nest  in  the  cavity  at  the 
top  of  the  tall  trunk,  if  there  were  such  a  cavity,  of 
which  I  was  yet  uncertain.  I  planned  to  visit  the 
spot  again  soon  for  the  purpose  of  definitely  ascer- 
taining if  there  were  a  nest  in  the  old  tree,  or  else- 
where in  the  vicinity.  Within  a  few  days  I 
returned,  properly  equipped  with  climbers,  har- 
ness and  hand  axe,  and  quietly  approached  the  old 
tree,  but  no  buzzard  was  in  sight.  I  pounded  nois- 
ily on  the  trunk  with  my  axe,  and  to  my  great  joy 
the  female  turkey  vulture  flew  out  of  the  cavity  at 
the  top.  It  was  a  straight  stem,  easily  climbed, 
and,  greatly  excited,  I  immediately  began  the 
ascent.  I  soon  reached  the  top  where  I  found  that 
the  trunk  of  the  old  tree  at  that  point  was  a  mere 
shell,  the  cavity  being  over  two  feet  in  diameter.  I 


278  Twelve  Months  With 

reached  down  into  the  dark  hole  the  full  length  of 
my  arm,  and  touched — nothing.  I  had  no  means 
with  me  of  making  an  artificial  light,  and  I  was 
therefore  unable  to  discern  anything  in  the  deep 
shadows  of  the  cavity,  or  determine  how  far  down 
below  the  top  of  the  stub  the  nest  was  located.  I 
therefore  descended  some  three  or  four  feet  ham- 
mering on  the  outside  as  I  went  to  locate  by  the 
deadened  sound  the  bottom  of  the  cavity  where  I 
might  expect  to  find  the  nest.  Having  settled  upon 
the  spot  with  as  much  certainty  as  possible  under 
the  circumstances  I  chopped  a  hole  through  the 
hard,  dead  trunk,  a  laborious  task,  only  to  find  that 
I  was  immediately  below  the  nest.  I  was  therefore 
compelled  to  move  up  about  twelve  inches,  and  cut 
another  hole,  but  I  was  finally  rewarded  by  secur- 
ing a  set  of  two  fine  eggs,  beautifully  mottled  with 
heavy  dark  brown  and  purple  markings.  This  set 
of  eggs  was  taken  in  1889  in  Northeastern  Indiana, 
at  about  the  latitude  of  Chicago,  and  I  know  of  no 
recent  record  of  this  bird  nesting  in  this  latitude. 

The  buzzards  are  larger  than  the  largest  hawks, 
having  a  wing  spread  of  at  least  four  feet.  They 
are  not  beautiful  in  plumage,  and  their  bloody 
scavenger  habits  sometimes  makes  them  appear 
repulsive.  In  bearing  and  flight,  however,  they 
are  noble  birds,  and  when  on  outstretched,  immove- 
able  wings  they  soar  far  overhead  in  graceful 
circles,  they  are  inspiring  pictures  of  grace  and 
majesty. 


The  Birds  and  Poets  279 

Mary  A.  Townsend  dedicates  these  lines  to  the 
graceful  flight  of  the  turkey  buzzard : 

"Aloft  on  horizontal  wing, 
We  saw  the  buzzard  rock  and  swing; 
That  sturdy  sailor  of  the  air 
Whose  agile  pinions  have  a  grace 
That  prouder  plumes  might  proudly  wear, 
And  claim  it  for  a  Kinglier  race." 

The  spirit  of  the  bird  lover  glows  with  ecstacy 

"When  March  just  ready  to  depart,  begins 
To  soften  into  April", — 

for  'tis  then  the  birds'  year  really  begins.  At  this 
happy  time  the  birds  seem  to  ride  in  on  every 
southern  breeze,  and  to  fall  from  the  heavens  with 
every  spring  shower,  and  the  world  once  again  is  a 
riot  of  color  and  song. 

Let  March  pass  therefore,  with  these  lines  by 
Robert  Burns  Wilson : 

"The  braggart  March  stood  in  the  season's  door 

With  his  broad  shoulders  blocking  up  the  way, 
Shaking  the  snow-flakes  from  the  cloak  he  wore, 

And  from  the  fringes  of  his  kirtle  gray. 
Near  by  him  April  stood  with  tearful  face, 

With  violets  in  her  hands,  and  in  her  hair 
Pale,  wild  anemones;  the  fragrant  lace 

Half-parted  from  her  breast,  which  seemed  like  fair 
Down-tinted  mountain  snow,  smooth-drifted  there. 


280  With  the  Birds  and  Poets 

She  on  the  blusterer's  arm  laid  one  white  hand, 

But  he  would  none  of  her  soft  blandishment, 
Yet  did  she  plead  with  tears  none  might  withstand, 

For  even  the  fiercest  hearts  at  last  relent. 
And  he,  at  last,  in  ruffian  tenderness, 

With  one  swift,  crushing  kiss  her  lips  did  greet, 
Ah,  poor  starved  heart! — for  that  one  rude  caress, 

She  cast  her  violets  underneath  his  feet." 


COPYRIGHT  ACKNOWLEDGMENT 

The  author  and  publisher  are  indebted  to  the  Houghton  Mifflin 
Company  for  special  permission  to  use  selections  from  the  works  of 
John  Vance  Cheney,  Lowell,  Stedman,  Charles  G.  D.  Roberts,  Emer- 
son, Holmes,  Browning,  Edgar  Fawcert,  John  Burroughs,  William 
Vaughn  Moody,  Longfellow,  Anna  Boynton  Averill,  Edith  M.  Thomas, 
William  Dean  Howells,  Thoreau,  Lloyd  Mifflin,  Trowbridge,  A.  West, 
.  Maurice  Thompson,  Joseph  Howe  and  Percy  Mackaye;  and  to  D. 
Appleton  &  Company  for  selections  from  Bryant's  poems,  "March" 
and  "To  a  Waterfowl"  and  for  selections  from  Dr.  Frank  M.  Chap- 
man's "Birds  of  Eastern  North  America" ;  to  the  Macmillan  Company 
for  selections  from  the  poems  of  Maud  Keary  and  Percy  Mackaye; 
to  Little,  Brown  &  Company  for  a  poem  by  Christina  Rossetti;  to 
J.  B.  Lippincott  Company  for  a  selection  from  "The  Lonely-Bird," 
by  Harrison  Smith  Morris;  for  a  number  of  selections  from  poems  by 
Riley,  from  the  Biographical  Edition  of  the  complete  works  of  James 
Whitcomb  Riley,  copyright  1913,  and  by  special  permission  of  the 
publishers,  The  Bobbs-Merrill  Company;  to  Charles  Scribner's  Son» 
for  selections  from  "The  Builders  and  Other  Poems"  and  "Music  and 
Other  Poems"  and  "God  of  the  Open  Air,"  by  Henry  Van  Dyke,  and 
for  the  poem  "January,"  by  L.  H.  Bailey;  to  Small,  Maynard  &  Com- 
pany for  selections  from  the  poems  of  Bliss  Carman  and  John  B.  Tabb; 
to  Doubleday,  Page  &  Company  for  the  poem  "Little  Brothers  of  the 
Ground,"  from  "The  Man  With  the  Hoe,"  by  Edwin  Markham,  and 
for  selections  from  "Far  Quests,"  by  Cale  Young  Rice;  to  Stewart  & 
Kidd  Company  for  the  poem  "My  Catbird,"  by  William  H.  Venable; 
to  the  Yale  University  Press  for  a  selection  from  "A  Page's  Road 
Song,"  by  Alex.  William  Percy;  to  Mitchell  Kennerley  for  th<«,  poem 
"Phoebe,"  by  Witter  Bynner;  to  The  Baker  &  Taylor  Company  for  a 
selection  from  "June  Rapture,"  by  Angela  Morgan;  and  to  Dr.,  Frank 
M.  Chapman  for  a  quotation  from  "Bird  Lore." 

Thanks  are  also  due  to  the  authors  already  named  and  to  the  fol- 
lowing authors  for  the  use  of  selections  from  their  poems:  Ethelwyn 
Wetherald,  Irene  Elder  Morton,  Joyce  Kilmer,  Louis  Untermeyer, 
Thos.  S.  Jones,  Jr.,  Wm.  W.  Caldwell,  Catherine  Van  D.  Harkee, 
Charles  Shepard  Parke,  Katherine  Tynan,  Ina  D.  Coolbrith,  Nellie 
Hart  Woodworth,  Charlotte  Smith,  George  Murray,  Robert  Bridges, 
Joel  Benton,  Mary  Augusta  Mason,  Marjorie  Pickthall,  Mary  Howitt, 
Thomas  Hill,  Hamlin  Garland,  Marion  Franklin  Ham,  P.  McArthur, 
Adelaide  Proctor,  Ellen  P.  Allerton,  S.  Frances  Harrison,  C.  P.,  Cleave- 
land,  Henry  Abbey,  Edna  Dean  Proctor,  Amos  Bryant  Russell,  Frances 
Mace,  Mary  Isabella  Forsythe,  Sarah  Orne  Jewett,  James  J.  Daly, 
Alice  Brown,  George  S.  Vireck,  Sarah  Piatt,  Wm.  Gilmore  Simms, 
Rose  Terry  Cook,  Mary  A.  Townsend;  and  to  Angela  Morgan  for 
quotation  from  the  poem  "June  Rapture"  in  "The  Hour  Has  Struck 
and  Other  Poems." 


INDEX 


Acadian  flycatcher 65 

Adaptation,  as  protection 270 

Altricials 214 

American  crossbill 196 

American  goldfinch 105,  117 

American   redstart 151 

April 9 

August 125 

B 

Bird  architecture 218 

Bird  feeding 200 

Birds,  origin  of 213 

Bird  study 24,  208,  223 

Blackbird,  crow 129 

Blackbird,  red-winged 107,  129,  269 

Blackbird,   yellow-headed 106 

Black-crowned  night  heron 274 

Bluebird 108,  234,  262 

Bluebird,  early  spring 12 

Blue  jay 33,  129,  236 

Bobolink 131 

Bobolink's  nests 135 

Bobwhite 138 

Bonaparte's  gull 193 


284  Index 

Brown  creeper 246 

Bronze  grackle     .      .      . 129 

Bunting,   indigo -.      .       105,   118 

Butcher  bird 245 

Buzzard 277 

c 

Cardinal 99,  105,  204 

Carolina  wren 113 

Catbird 82 

Cedar-bird 32,   106,  109,  246 

Cedar  waxwing 32,   106,   109,  246 

Chewink 35 

Chickadee 236,  237,  241 

Collecting  eggs 272 

Cooper  hawk 276 

Cowbird 94,  269 

Creeper,  brown 246 

Crossbill 196 

Crow 236,  237,  238,  275 

Cuckoo,  black-billed 70 

Cuckoo,  yellow-billed 68,  96,  106 

D 

December 207 

Dickcissel 137 

E 

Eggs,  adaptation  of 270 

English  sparrow 205,  225 

Evening  grosbeak 196,  19? 


Index  285 


February 249 

Feeding  birds 200 

Flicker,  calls  of 30 

Flocking,  in  winter 233 

Flocking  of  birds 127,  130 

Flycatchers 62 

Flycatcher,  great-crested 67 

Food  for  birds 204 

Franklin's  gull 194 

G 

Goldfinch 105,  116,  236 

Goldfinch,  in  winter 236 

Goldfinch,   roosting 245 

Crackle 129 

Great-crested  flycatcher 67 

Grinnell's  water  thrush 37 

Grosbeak,    cardinal 99,  105,  204 

Grosbeak,  evening 196,   198 

Grosbeak,  pine 196 

Grosbeak,  rose-breasted 105,  122 

Grosbeak,  sociable 218 

Grouse,  ruffed 271 

Gull,  Bonaparte's 193 

Gull,  Franklin's 194 

Gull,  herring 193 

Gull,  ring-billed 193 

H 

Hawks 272 

Hawks,   migrating 163 


286  Index 

Hawks,  prejudices  against 275 

Heron,  black-crowned  night 274 

Herring  gull 193 

Homing  instinct 178 

Hornbill 218 

Horned  lark 260 

House  wren 113 

Humming   bird 100,  149,  150 


Indigo  bunting 105,  118 


January 223 

Jay,  blue 33 

July 103 

Junco 40,  154,  236 

June 75 

K 

Killdeer 269 

Kingbird 66 

Kingfisher 96 

Kinglets 38,  157.  246 

L 

Lapland  longspur 236 

Lark,  horned 260 

Lighthouses,  as  attractions  to  birds 179 

Long-billed  marsh  wren 114 


Index  287 

M 

Man,  place  and  purpose  in  nature 45 

March 265 

Marsh  wren,  long-billed 114 

Martin,  purple 91 

Mating,  for  life  or  season 215 

May 43 

Meadowlark 36,  269 

Migrants         153,  189 

Migration 49,   145,  171,  177 

Migration,  by  day 148 

Migration,  by  night 147 

Migration,  long  distance 173 

Migration,  methods  of 162 

Migration,  of  animals 180 

Molting  process 161 

Mourning  dove 188,  269 

N 

Nest  building,  robin 15 

Nest,  of  chickadee 243 

Nesting 105 

Nests,  exposed  in  winter 209 

Nests,  structure  of 2IO 

Nests,  of  bobolinks 135 

Nests,  of  humming  bird 219 

Nests,  of  wood  pewee 219 

Nighthawk 177 

November • 183 

Nuthatches,  in  winter 236,  240 

Nuthatch,  red-breasted 158,  240 

Nuthatch,  white-breasted 158,  240 


288  Index 

O 

October 169 

Oriole,  Baltimore 58 

Oriole,  orchard 151 

Oriole,  orchard,  nest  of 218 

Oven-bird,  nest  of 219 

Owl,  barred 251,  256 

Owl    characteristics 259,  260 

Owl,  great  horned 251 

Owl,  long-eared 256,  258 

Owl,  saw-whet 256,  259 

Owl,  screech 256 

Owl,  short-eared 256,  258 

P 

Pewee 62 

Phoebe 60,  92,  269 

Pine  grosbeak 196 

Plover,  golden 161 

Poems  (see  poets) 
Poets: 

Abbey,  Henry 186 

Allerton,  Ellen  P 170 

Arnold,  George 145 

Arnold,  Matthew I 

Averill,  Anna  Boynton 92 

Bailey,  L.  H 223 

Benton,  Joel 120,  237 

Bridges,  Robert     .      . 43,  117 

Brown,  Alice 248 

Browning,  Robert 51,  74 


Index  289 

Brownlow,  Edward  Burrough 142 

Bryant,  William  Cullen 50,  266 

Burns,  Robert 185,  201 

Burroughs,  John 234 

Caldwell,  Wm.  W 17 

Carman,  Bliss 9,  169 

Cheney,  John  Vance    .      .    n,  71,  72,  102,  222,  258,  267 

Cleaveland,  C.  L. 185 

Coleridge,  Hartley 183 

Cook,  Rose  Terry 209 

Coolbrith,  Ina  D 36 

Cooper,  George 171 

Daly,  James  J 230 

Fawcett,  Edgar 58 

Forsyth,  Mary  Isabella 205 

Garland,  Hamlin 139 

Ham,  Marion  Franklin 139 

Harkee,  Katherine  Van  D 18 

Harrison,  S.  Frances 184 

Hill,  Thomas 132 

Holmes,  Oliver  Wendell 41 

Hood,  Thomas 184 

Howe,  Joseph 210 

Howells,  Wm.  Dean 125 

Howitt,  Mary 130 

Hunt,  Leigh 76 

Iris,  Scharmel 107 

Jackson,  Helen  Hunt 132 

Jewett,  Sarah  Orne 220 

Jones,  Thos.  S 12 

Keats,  John 118,  207 

Kilmer,  Joyce 13 

Longfellow,  Henry  W 79,  147,  197.  206 


290  Index 

Lowell,  Jas.  Russell 17 

59,  60,  71,  102,  104,  108,  129,  136,  163,  181,  209,  242 

McArthur,  P 146 

McManus,  S.  M 32 

McLachlan,  Alexander 136 

Mackaye,  Percy 249,  266 

Mace,  Frances  Laughton 187 

Malone,  Walter 184 

Markham,  Edwin 47 

Mason,  Mary  Augusta 121 

Mifflin,  Lloyd '. 103 

Moody,  Wm.  Vaughn 77 

Morgan,  Angela 78 

Morris,  Harrison  Smith 28 

Morton,  Irene  Elder 75 

Murray,  George 101 

Parke,  Charles  Shepard 21 

Percy,  Alex.  Wm 10 

Piatt,  Sarah 262 

Pickthall,  Marjorie 128 

Proctor,  Edna  Dean 186 

Rice,  Cale  Young 148,  195,  199 

Riley,  Jas.  Whitcomb  .     34,  39,  79,  141,  166,  187,  247,  265 

Roberts,  Charles  G.  D 18 

Rossetti,  Christina 45 

Russell,  Amos  Bryant 186 

Sangster,  Margaret 146 

Shakespeare,  Wm 96 

Smith,  Charlotte 92 

Spencer,  Edmund 43,  76 

Stedman,  Edmund  C 17 

Stevenson,  Robt.  L 194 

Tabb,  John  Banister 101 


Index  291 

Tennyson,  Alfred 107 

Thomas,  Edith 99,  241 

Thompson,  Maurice 240,  268 

Townsend,  Mary  A 279 

Trowbridge,  John  T 62,  139,  244 

Tynan,  Katherine 24 

Untermeyer,  Louis 12 

Van  Dyke,  Henry 28,  46,  97 

Venable,  Wm.  Henry 84 

Viereck,  Geo.  Sylvester 261 

Virgil 165 

Wetherald,  Ethel wyn 119,  250 

Whitney,  Adeline  D.  T 77 

Willis,  Nathaniel  P. 188 

Wilson,  Robert  Burns 239,  262,  279 

Woodworth,  Nellie  Hart 72 

Wordsworth,  Wm. 16,  68,  164,  220 

Prairie  horned  lark 260 

Precocials         214 

Protective  coloring 270 

Ptarmigans .271 

Q 

Quail 138 

R 

Redpoll 196,  198,  236 

Redstart,  American 151 

Red-shouldered  hawk      .      . 273 

Red-tailed  hawk 273 

Red-winged  black  bird 107,  269 

Ring-billed  gull 193 


292  Index 

Robin,  early  spring .12,  267 

Robin,  feeding 18 

Robin,  in  winter 234 

Robin,  nesting  on  window-ledge 13 

Rooks 238 

Roosting  of  birds  in  winter 245 

S 

Sanderling 175 

Sandpiper,  red-backed 189 

Sandpiper,  semipalmated 176 

Sandpiper,  spotted 87 

Sand-snipe 175 

Scarlet  tanager 105,   120,  161 

September 145 

Sharp-shinned  hawk 276 

Shore  lark 260 

Shrike,  Northern 245 

Snipe,  Wilson's  (jack) 190 

Snowflake 236 

Sociable  grosbeak 218 

Songs  of  birds,  purpose  of 19 

Sparrow    hawk 274 

Sparrow,  English 205,  225 

Sparrow,  field 269 

Sparrow,  fox 156,  269 

Sparrow,  lark 99 

Sparrow,  song 27,  236,  269 

Sparrow,  swamp 269 

Sparrow,  vesper 99 

Sparrow,  white-throated 28,  156 

Sparrow,  white-throated,  song  of 28 

Swallow,  bank 89,  91 


Index 


293 


Swallow,  barn 91 

Swallow,  cliff 91 

Swallow,  rough-winged 91 

Swallow,  tree 91,  236 

Swallows,  migrating 165 

Swift,  chimney 165 

Swifts,  migrating 167 

T 

Tailor  bird 218 

Tanager,  scarlet 105,   120,  161 

Tern,  Arctic,  migration  of 174 

Tern,  black 112 

Tern,  Caspian 174 

Tern,  common 174 

Tern,  Forster's 174 

Thrush,  gray-cheeked 29 

Thrush,  hermit 7J»  J^7 

Thrush,  olive-backed 29 

Thrush,  Wilson's 29 

Thrush,  wood 7° 

Thrushes,   migrating 29,  159 

Towhee 35 

Traill's  flycatcher 66 

Turkey  buzzard  (vulture) 277 

v 

Veery 29 

Vireo,  red-eyed I23 

Vireo,  warbling I24 

Vireo,  yellow-breasted 124 

Vulture                              277 


294  '  Index 

W 

Warblers : 

Bay-breasted -73 

Black  and  white 73 

Blackburnian 73 

Blackpoll 73 

Black-throated  blue 73 

Black- throated  green 73 

Blue-winged 73 

Canadian 73 

Cape  May -73 

Cerulean 73 

Chat,  yellow-breasted  .            73 

Chestnut-sided 73 

Connecticut 73 

Golden-winged 73 

Grinnell's  water  thrush 37 

Magnolia 73 

Maryland  yellow-throat 73 

Mourning 73 

Myrtle 73 

Oven-bird 219 

Palm      .' 73 

Pine 73 

Prothonotary 73 

Redstart 73,  151 

Tennessee 73 

Water  thrush 73 

Wilson's 73 

Yellow 73 

Warblers,  migrants 73,  160 

Water  thrush       . 37 


Index  295 

Waxwings,  cedar. *      ....  32,  246 

White-winged  crossbill 196 

Whippoorwill 141,  142 

Wild  canary .      .  116 

Winter,  animals  retire  in 246 

Winter  birds 196,  205,  234,  236 

Winter  feeding 2OO 

Winter  houses 205 

Winter  wren 113 

Woodpecker,  downy 98,  237 

Woodpecker,  hairy 237 

Woodpecker,  red-headed 108 

Woodpeckers,  in  winter 236,  237 

Wood    pewee 62 

Wood    thrush 70 

Wren,  Carolina 113 

Wren,  house         113 

Wren,  long-billed  marsh 114 

Wren,  winter 113 


A     000102661 


MAN'S  HIGH  ADVENTURE 

SAMUEL  A.  HARPER 


Cf  To  become  aware  of  the  infinite  cosmos,  of 
the  relation  of  his  small  planet  thereto,  of  his 
common  origin  and  kinship  with  everything 
that  shines  and  lives,  of  his  participation  in 
the  creative  processes  of  evolution; 

C[  And  to  direct  the  &reat  forces  of  nature,  of 
himself  and  of  his  society  to  the  ultimate, 
supreme  &ood  of  the  human  race,  —  this  is 

MAN'S  HIGH  ADVENTURE 


nit/ 

Copyright,  1931      ^ 
By  Samuel  A.  Harper 


' 


* 


